"T — T" 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 


Mr.    H.    H.    Kil iani 


UCSB  LIBRARlt 
If-  Z%^^ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

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littp://www.arcli  ive.org/details/eldoradostoryofkOOtayliala 


JEldoraOo  JEDition 


THE  WORKS 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 


VOLUME   II 


ELDORADO 
THE    STORY    OF    KENNETT 


•21 


T 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

ay  WEST  TWENTY-THIKU   STREHT  24    BEDFORD   STREET,   STRAND 

®^t  ^nithcrbotktt  '$ttss 


ELDORADO 


OR 


ADVENTURES    IN    THE    PATH    OF    EMPIRE 
(MEXICO   AND   CALIFORNIA) 


BAYARD  TAYLOR 


author's  rkvised  edition 


Enteied,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  i85«>,  by 

BAYARD  TAYLOR, 

m  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  Mew  York. 


Copyright  by 

MARIE    TAYLOR 

1883 


TO 

EDWARD  F.  BEALE,  LIEUT.,  U.  S.  N. 

THIS   WORK   IS   DEDICATED 

WITH 

THE    author's   esteem    AND    AFFECTION 


PREFACE. 


This  work  requires  but  few  words  in  the  waj  of  introducrion. 
Though  tlvc  author's  purpose  in  visiting  California  -was  not  to  write 
i  book,  the  cii-cumstances  of  his  journey  seemed  to  impose  it  upon 
him  as  a  duty,  and  all  his  observations  were  made  with  this  end  in 
ricw.  The  condition  of  California,  during  the  latter  half  of  the 
year  1849,  was  as  transitory  as  it  was  marvellous  ;  the  records 
which  were  then  made  can  never  be  made  again.  Seeing  so  much 
that  was  worthy  of  being  described — so  many  curious  and  shifting 
phases  of  society — such  examples  of  growth  and  progress,  most 
wonderful  in  their  first  stage — in  a  word,  the  entire  construction 
of  a  new  and  sovereign  State,  and  the  establishment  of  a  great 
omraercial  metropolis  on  the  Pacific  coast — the  author  suffered 
no  opportunity  to  pass,  which  might  qualify  him  to  preserve  thei 
fleeting  images.  A.S  he  was  troubled  by  no  dreams  of  gold,  and 
took  no  part  in  exciting  schemes  of  trade,  he  has  hoped  to  give 
an  impartial  coloring  to  the  picture.  His  impressions  of  Califor- 
nia are  those  of  one  who  went  to  sec  and  write,  and  who  sough< 


Vm  PREFACB. 

to  do  both  faithfully.     Whatever  may  be  the  faults  of  his  work 
be  trusts  this  endeavor  will  be  recognized. 

A  portion,  only,  of  the  pages  which  follow,  were  included  in  the 
original  letters  which  appeared  in  the  columns  of  the  New- York 
Tribune.  Many  personal  incidents,  and  pictures  of  society  as  it 
then  existed  in  California,  noted  down  at  the ,  time,  have  been 
added,  and  a  new  form  given  to  the  materials  obtained.  The 
aocount  of  the  author's  journey  across  Mexico,  is  now  published 
for  the  first  time. 

If,  when  a  new  order  of  things  has  been  established  and  what 
has  occurred  is  looked  upon  as  a  phenomenon  of  the  Past,  some 
of  these  pages  should  be  preserved  as  a  record  and  remembrai.cf 
thereof,  the  object  of  this  work  will  be  fully  accomplished. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I. 

Ketr  York  to  Chagres — ^The  Shores  of  Florida — Night  In  Havaaa  Hart  or— 
N«w  Orleans — Obagres  from  the  Sea I 


CHAPTER  n. 

Oossing  the  '"sthmiis — Quarrel  with  a  Native — The  Village  of  Oatnn — Songs  on 
the  Uiver — A  Priest's  Household — An  Affectionate  Boatman — Riding  Tiuruigh 
the  Forests — We  Beach  I'aiiaina II 

CHAPTBB  m. 
feoBM in  Panama — Emigrants  Arriving — Ruined  ChorohM > 26 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Pacific  Coast  of  Mexico — Meal-time  on  the  Steamer — A  Midnight  eall  at 
Acapulco — The  Mexican  Coast — ^The  Old  Presidio  of  San  Bias — ^Touching  at 
Mazatlan 31 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Coast  of  California — A  Treacherous  Coast — Harbor  of  San  Diego — Karrativea 
ot  Emigration — Gen.  Villamil  and  his  Colony — The  Last  Day  of  the  Voyage — 
Tt»  Anchor  Drops ! 42 

CHAPTER  VI. 

nrst  Impressions  of  San  Francisco — Appearance  of  the  Town — ^the  New-Comer'* 

Bowilderuient — Indifferent  Shopkeepers — Street  Gold — People  in  Town. 54 

1* 


lil  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 
TtaTelltng  on  the  Plains— Night,  Bain  and  a  Bancbe— The  Neyada  at  Bnnset— Pratito 
an!  Wood  Graft— Among  the  Hill»— A  Knot  of  Polltioiana 227 

CHAPTER   XXIIL 
Journey  to  tbo  Voloaao— Tb«  Forest  Trail— Camping  in  a  Stoma— The  Voloanle  Oom-         [ 
munity— Appearance  of  the  Extinct  Craters— The  Top  of  Polo's  Peak— Betom  to 
the  Mokelumne. 239 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 
Deotton  Hoenes  and  Mining  Chsraetera — Voting  on  the  Mokelnmne— Ineldenta  of 
Digging- An  Kngllshman  In  Baptnrea — "  Buckshot"— Qaicksilver— My  own  Ooid 
Digging 251 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
The  Bainy  Season— The  Ferry— Deception  of  the  Diggers— Dry  Creek  and  Amador's 
Creek — A  Banehe  and  its  Inhabitants — A  Female  Specimen— A  Vision  Belin> 
qnlshed 260 

CHAPTER   XXVL 
Night  in  Saonunento  City— Perils  of  a  Stroll— The  City  Mnsio— Ethiopian  Melodtea 
— Callfomlan  Theatre— Playing  the  Eavesdropper— Squatters'  Quarrels—Fate  or  my 
Mare 272 

CHAPTER  XXVIL 
fhe  Orerlaad  Emigration  of  1849— Its  Character— The  Cholera  on  the  Plains— Salt 
Lake  City— The  Great  Basin— The  Nevada— Descent  of  the  Mountains— Apathy  in 
Peru— The  CaoM    281 

CHAPTER  XXVUL 
Rm  Italy  of  the  West— Steam  on  tbe  Sacramento— The  Sunsets  of  California— A 
Company  of  Waahmen— A  Vwactons  Donkey— Attempt  at  Squatter  Life. 292 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Han  Frandseo  foor  months  Later— Character  of  Buslnees— Life  and  Soeletf— Ua- 
ftthomable  Mud— Streets  and  Men gOl 


CONTICMT8.  Xlh 


PAGB 

CHAPTER   XXX. 
Society  tn  Oalifomla — Tlje  Transfarmation  of  the  Einigran ;  —The  Noneinen  Ue- 
rlred — ^Tbe  Energies  of  Society —California  Oeinocracy 310 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 
Lm  r  I  i;  San  Frmncisoo — A  0?nnan  Crew  and  Chilian  Schooner— Weathering  a  Soatli- 
Easier— The  Fire  on  Shors— We  put  back  in  Distrees— The  Burnt  District— Stem- 
nlng  a  Flood  Tide— The  8team/«r— Paso  del  Mar— Down  the  Coast 31 5 

CHAPTER   XXXn. 
kfasatlan— A  Chinese  Boniface— The  Streets  by  Night  and  Day— The  Atmosphere  of 
the  Ontf— PreparationB  to  leave— Solemn  Warnings. 326 

CHAPTER   XXXIIL 
Travel  in  the  Tlerra  Callente— Tropical  Winter— A  Lazy  Mnle— Night  at  a  Banch»— 
A  **  Caminador'" — Evening  at  a  Posada— Breakfast  in  El  Rosarlo— A  Jolly  Hostess — 
Bide  to  La  Bayona— The  Palm  and  the  Pine — Indian  Bobbers — Chat  with  the  Na- 
tives—£1  Chucho— The  Ferry  of  Eio  Santiago— A  Night  of  Horror 333 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
The  Ascent  to  the  Table-Land— My  Friend  and  Caminador— A  Bargain — The  People 
— Topic- Sacred  Mysteries  at  San  Lionel— The  Massacre  of  the  Innocents— A  Val- 
ley Plctore — Crossing  the  Barranca 350 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 

rhe  Bobber  Eegion — Meeting  a  Conducta — Tequila  below — Suspicions — The  Bobber* 
at  Last— Plundered  and  Bound— My  Liberation— A  Gibbet  Scene— The  Kind  Padre 
of  GnadaliOu* 3^2 

CHAPTER   XXXVl. 
TV.ree  Days  In  Guadalajara— My  Hosts- An  Unlucky  Scotchman —Financierin,?— 
The  Cabal— Notoriety— Movable  Fortresses— The  Alameda— Tr oplc  Beauty   by 
Moonlight— An  Affectionate  Farewell 373 

CHAPTER   XXX  VTI. 
In  tb«  DiHgeooe  to  Guanajuato— Pleasant  Travel— The  Choleni— San  Joan  de  k« 
Lagos -Tbe  VaUey  of  Leon— An  Eucbauted  Citv— The  Eve  of  a  Bobb«r'»  Death..  3^3 


XW  ~  OONTBNTB. 


FACE 

CHAPTER  XXXVia 
IIm  IMridhij;  Bidge  and  Descent  to  the  YftUey  of  Mexico— The  B^Jlo— An  Escort-  & 
Oay  Padre — Zorutoia'a  Hacienda— The  Pass  of  Capnlalpan — Mezloo .    393 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Soenes  In  the  Mexican  Capital — Interior  of  the  CSathedral— Street  ChanM;ten--Sim>k 
ing  in  the  Theatre— Aztec  Antiqaities 399 

CHAPTER  XL. 

Mexican  Polities  and  PoUtleal  Men— The  Halls  of  Congress— Presentation  of  the 
American  Minister — HMtera.  his  Oovernment  and  Ministers 407 

CHAPTER   XLl. 
Ohapultepeo  and  the  Battle  Fieldfr— The  Panorama  of  the  Yalley 414 

CHAPTER   XLIL 

The  Base  of  Popocatepetl— Another  View  of  the  Valley— The  Pine  Woods  of  Rio 
Frio— MaUncbe— Popooatapetl  and  the  Pyramid  of  Chulula— PuebU  at  Night 422 

CHAPTER   XLHI. 

aUmpees  of  Porgatorjr  and  Paradise— The  Plains  of  Perote— The  Bim  of  the  Tabl*^ 
Land— Magnificent  View- Paradise— Orisaba  Mountain— The  Delights  of  Jalapa- 
The  Field  of  Cerro  0<»do— The  Continent  Orossed 43<^ 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
VnisCrniandBan  JnaadlJllM— Hoocewifd 44' 


ELDORADO. 


CHAPTER  1. 

FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  CH ACRES. 

On  the  28th  of  Juno,  1849,  I  sailed  from  Netir  York,  in  the 
U.  S.  Mail  steamship  Falcon,  bound  for  Chagres.  About  eight 
months  had  elapsed  since  the  tidings  of  an  Eldorado  in  the  West 
reached  the  Atlantic  shore.  The  first  eager  rush  of  adven- 
turers was  over,  yet  there  was  no  cessation  to  the  marvellous 
reports,  and  thousands  were  only  waiting  a  few  further  repetitions, 
to  join  the  hordes  of  emigration.  The  departure  of  a  steamer 
was  still  something  of  an  incident.  The  piers  and  shipping  were 
crowded  with  spectators,  and  as  the  Falcon  moved  from  hex 
moorings,  many  a  cheer  and  shout  of  farewell  followed  her.  The 
glow  and  excitement  of  adventure  seemed  to  animate  even  those 
who  remained  behind,  and  as  for  our  passengers,  there  was  scarcely 
ore  who  did  not  feel  himself  more  or  less  a  hero.  The  deck  tang 
with  songs,  laughter  and  gaily-spoken  anticipations  of  roving  life 
and  untold  treasure,  till  we  began  to  feel  the  heavy  swell  rolling 
inward  from  Sandy  Hook.  W 

Rough  weather  set  in  with  the  night,  and  for  a  day  or  two 
we  were  all  in  the  same  state  of  torpid  misery.  Sea-sickness — 
next  to  Death,  the  greatest  leveler — could  not,  however,  smootb 
iJown  the  striking  contrasts  of  character  exhibited  among  the  paji- 


2  ELDORADO. 

sengers.  Nothing  les?  than  a  marvel  like  that  of  Californw 
could  have  brought  into  juxtaposition  so  many  opposite  types  of 
human  nature.  We  had  an  officer  of  the  Navy,  blunt,  warm- 
hearted and  jovial ;  a  captain  in  the  merchant  service,  intelligent 
and  sturdily-tempered  ;  Down-Easters,  with  sharp-set  faces — men 
of  the  genuine  stamp,  who  would  be  sure  to  fall  on  their  feet 
wherever  they  might  be  thrown  ;  quiet  and  sedate  Spaniards ; 
hilarious  Germans  ;  and  some  others  whose  precise  character  was 
morn  difficult  to  determine.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  land 
to  which  we  were  bound,  nothing  read  but  Fremont's  Expedition, 
Emory's  Report,  or  some  work  of  Rocky  Mountain  travel. 

Aftor  doubling  Cape  Hatteras,  on  the  second  day  out,  our  mo 
Dotonous  life  was  varied  by  the  discovery  of  a  distant  wreck. 
Captain  Hartstein  instantly  turned  the  Falcon's  head  towards  her, 
and  after  an  hour's  run  we  came  up  with  her.  The  sea  for  some 
distance  around  was  strewed  with  barrels,  fragments  of  bulwarks, 
stanchions  and  broken  spars.  She  was  a  schooner  of  a  hundred 
tons,  lying  on  her  beam  ends  and  water-logged.  Her  mainmast 
was  gone,  the  foremast  broken  at  the  yard  and  the  bowsprit 
snapped  off  and  lying  across  her  bows.  The  mass  of  spars  and 
rigging  drifted  by  her  side,  surging  drearily  on  the  heavy  sea 
Not  a  soul  was  aboard,  and  we  made  many  conjectures  as  to  their 
*»te. 

We  lay  to  off  Charleston  the  fourth  night,  waiting  for  the  mails, 
which  came  on  board  in  the  morning  with  a  few  forlorn-looking 
passengers,  sick  and  lyeary  with  twenty-four  hours'  tossing  en  the 
BWcUs.  In  the  afternoon  we  saw  Tybee  Lighthouse,  through  th<> 
veil  of  a  misty  shower  The  sun  set  among  the  jagged  piles  of  a 
broken  thunder-cloud,  and  ribbon-like  streaks  of  lightning  darted 
all  round  the  horizon.     Our  voyage  now  began  to  have  a  real  in- 


THE    SHORES    OF    FLORIDA.  3 

terest  With  the  next  sunrise,  we  saw  the  Lighthouse  of  St 
Augustine  and  ran  down  the  shores  of  Florida,  inside  the  Guli 
Stream,  and  close  to  the  edges  of  the  banks  of  coral.  The  pas- 
sengers clustered  on  the  bow,  sitting  with  their  feet  hanging  ovei 
tike  guards,  and  talking  of  Ponce  de  Leon,  De  Soto,  and  the  earlj 
Spanish  adventurers.  It  was  unanimou-sly  voted  that  the  present 
days  were  as  wonderful  as  those,  and  each  individual  emigrant  en- 
titled to  equal  credit  for  daring  and  enterprise.  I  found  it  delighful 
to  sit  all  day  leaning  over  the  rails,  watching  the  play  of  flying-fish 
the  floating  of  purple  nautili  on  the  water,  or  looking  off  to  the 
level  line  of  the  shore.  Behind  a  beach  of  white  sand,  half  a  mile 
in  breadth  and  bordered  by  dense  thickets,  rise  the  interminabl«s 
forests  of  live  oak,  mangrove  and  cypress.  The  monotony  of  this 
long  extent  of  coast  is  only  broken  by  an  occasional  lagoon,  where 
the  deep  green  of  the  woods  comes  down  upon  the  lighter  green 
of  the  coral  shoals,  or  by  the  huts  of  wreckers  and  their  trim, 
dnck-like  crafts,  lying  in  the  offings.  The  temperature  was  deli 
cious,  with  a  lighf,  cloudy  sky,  and  a  breeze  as  soft  and  balmy  a> 
that  of  our  northern  May.  The  afternoons  commenced  with  a 
heavy  thunder-shower,  after  which  the  wind  came  fresh  from  the 
land,  bringing  us  a  rank  vegetable  odor  from  the  cypress  swamps 
On  the  morning  of  July  .5th,  I  took  a  station  on  the  wheel- 
house^  to  look  out  for  Cuba.  We  had  left  Florida  in  the  night, 
and  the  waves  of  the  GiJf  were  around  ns  The  sun,  wheeling 
near  the  zenith,  burned  fiercely  on  the  water.  I  glowed  at  mj 
post,  but  not  with  his  beam.  I  had  reached  the  flaming  boun 
dary  of  the  Tropics,  and  felt  that  the  veil  was  lifting  from  an 
unknown  world.  The  fer  rim  of  the  horizon  seemed  as  if  it  would 
never  lireak  into  an  uneven  line.  At  last,  towards  noon,  Oapt 
ffartstein  handed  me  the  ship's  glass.     T  swept  the  southern  dia* 


4  ELDORADC. 

taoce,  and  discerned  a  single  blue,  conical  peak  rising  from  tli« 
irater — the  well-known  Pan  of  Matanzas.  As  we  drew  nearer, 
the  Iron  Mountains — a  rugged  chain  in  the  interior — rose,  then  th« 
exeeu  hills  along  the  coast,  and  finally  the  white  beach  and  bluffs, 
the  coral  reefs  and  breakers.  The  shores  were  buried  in  vege- 
tation. The  fields  of  young  sugar-cane  ran  along  the  slopes; 
palms  waved  from  the  hill-tops,  and  the  country  houses  of  plant- 
ers lay  deep  in  the  valleys,  nestling  in  orange  groves.  I  drank  in 
the  land-wind — a  combination  of  all  tropical  perfumes  in  one  full 
breath  of  cool  air — with  an  enjoyment  verging  on  intoxication, 
while,  point  beyond  point,  we  followed  the  enchanting  coast. 

We  ran  under  the  battlements  of  the  Moro  at  six  o'clock,  and 
turning  abruptly  round  the  bluff  of  dark  rock  on  which  it  is  built, 
the  magnificent  harbor  opened  inland  before  us.  To  the  right  lay 
the  city,  with  its  terraced  houses  of  all  light  and  brilUant  colors, 
its  spacious  public  buildings,  spires,  and  the  quaint,  h<ilf-oricntal 
pile  of  its  cathedral,  in  whose  chancel  repose  the  ashes  <>f  Christo- 
pher Columbus.  The  immense  fortress  of  the  Moro  ciowned  the 
height  on  our  left,  the  feathery  heads  of  palm-trees  peering  above 
its  massive,  cream-colored  walls.  A  part  of  the  garrison  were  going 
through  their  evening  exercises  on  the  beach.  Numberless  boats 
skimmed  about  on  the  water,  and  a  flat  ferry-steamer,  painted 
green  and  yellow,  was  on  its  way  to  the  suburb  of  Regoles. 
Around  the  land-locked  harbor,  two  miles  in  width,  rose  green 
hills,  dotted  with  the  country  palaces  of  the  nobility.  Over  all 
this  charming  view  glowed  the  bright  hues  of  a  southern  sunset. 

On  account  of  the  cholera  at  New  York,  we  wore  ordered  up 
to  the  Quarantine  ground  and  anchored  beside  the  Lulk  of  an  old 
frigate,  filled  with  yellow-fever  patients.  The  Health  Officers 
received  the  mail  and  ship's  papers  at  the  end  of  a  long  pole,  and 


NIGHT    IN     HAVANA     HARBOR.  5 

dipped  them  in  a  bucket  of  vinegar.  The  boats  which  brotighl 
us  water  and  vegetables  were  attended  by  Cuban  soldiers,  in  white 
anifonn,  who  guarded  against  all  contact  with  us.  Half-naked 
elaves,  with  the  broad,  coarse  features  of  the  natives  of  Congo, 
worked  at  the  pump,  but  even  they  suffered  the  rope-end  or  planl 
which  had  touched  our  vessel,  to  drop  in  the  water  before  they 
handled  it.  After  sunset,  the  yellow-fever  dead  were  buried  and 
the  bell  of  a  cemetery  on  shore  tolled  mournfully  at  intervals. 
The  steamer  Isabel,  and  other  American  ships,  were  anchored 
beside  us,  and  a  lively  conversation  between  the  crews  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  tropical  moonlight  resting  on  the  water.  Now 
and  then  they  struck  into  songs,  one  taking  up  a  new  strain  as 
the  other  ceased — in  the  style  of  the  Venetian  gondoliers,  but 
with  a  different  effect.  "  Tasso's  echoes"  are  another  thing  from 
"the  floating  scow  of  old  Virginny."  The  lights  of  the  city 
gleamed  at  a  distance,  and  over  them  the  flaming  beacon  of  the 
Moro.  Tall  palms  were  dinily  seen  on  the  nearer  hills,  and  the 
damp  night-air  came  heavy  with  the  scent  of  cane-fields,  orange 
groves  and  flowers. 

A  voyage  across  the  Gulf  is  the  perfection  of  sea-traveling. 
After  a  detention  of  eighteen  hours  at  Havana,  we  ran  under  the 
frowning  walls  of  the  Moro,  out  on  its  sheet  of  brilliant  blue  wa- 
ter, specked  with  white-caps  that  leaped  to  a  fresh  north-easter. 
The  waves  are  brighter,  the  sky  softer  and  purer,  the  sunsets 
more  mellow  than  on  the  Atlantic,  and  the  heat,  though  ranging 
from  88°  to  95°  in  the  shade,  is  tempered  by  a  steady  and  de- 
licious breeze. 

Before  catching  sight  of  land,  our  approach  to  the  Mississippi 
was  betrayed  by  the  water.  Changing  to  a  deep,  then  a  muddy 
greeo,  which,  even  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  shore,  roUs  its 


6  ELDORADO 

Btratum  of  fresh  water  over  the  bed  of  denser  brine,  it  needed  no 
soundings  to  tell  of  land  ahead.  The  light  on  the  South  Pass 
was  on  our  starboard  at  dusk.  The  arm  of  the  river  we  entered 
seemed  so  wide  in  the  uncertain  light,  that,  considering  it  as  ono 
of  five,  my  imagination  expanded  in  contemplating  the  size  of  the 
(angle  flood,  bearing  in  its  turbid  waves  the  snows  of  mountains 
that  look  on  Oregon,  the  ice  of  lakes  in  Northern  Minesota  and 
the  crystal  springs  that  for  a  thousand  miles  gush  from  the  west- 
em  slope  of  the  Alleghanies.  When  morning  came,  my  excited 
fancies  seemed  completely  at  fault.  I  could  scarcely  recognize 
the  Father  of  Waters  in  the  tortuous  current  of  brown  soap-suds, 
a  mile  in  width,  flowing  between  forests  of  willow  and  cypress  on 
one  side  and  swamps  that  stretched  to  the  horizon  on  the  other. 
Ev(3rything  exhibited  the  rank  growth  and  speedy  decay  of  tropi 
cal  vegetation  The  river  was  filled  with  floating  logs,  which 
were  drifted  all  along  the  shore.  The  trees,  especially  the 
cypress,  were  shrouded  in  gray  moss,  that  hung  in  long  streamers 
from  the  branches,  and  at  intervals  the  fallen  thatch  of  some  de- 
serted cabin  was  pushed  from  its  place  by  shrubbery  and  wild 
vines. 

Near  the  city,  the  shores  present  a  rich  and  cultivated  aspect 
The  land  Is  perfectly  flat,  but  the  forest  recedes,  and  broad  fiolda 
of  sugar  cane  and  maize  in  ear  come  down  to  the  narrow  levee 
which  protects  them  from  the  flood.  The  houses  of  the  planters 
tow,  balconied  and  cool,  are  buried  among  orange  trees,  acacias 
and  the  pink  blossoms  of  the  crape  myrtle  The  slave-hut.-^  ad 
joining,  in  parallel  rows,  have  sometimes  small  gardens  attached 
bat  are  rarely  shaded  by  trees. 

I  found  New  Orleans  remarkably  dull  and  hoalthy.  The  citj 
was  enjoying  an  interregnum  between  the  departure  of  the  cholera 


NEW    ORLEANS.  7 

ind  the  arrival  of  the  yellow  fever.  The  crevasse,  bj  which  hab 
(he  city  had  lately  been  submerged,  was  closed,  but  the  eflectd 
of  the  inundation  were  stUl  perceptible  in  frequent  pools  of  stand- 
ing water,  and  its  scones  daily  renewed  by  incessant  showera 
The  rain  came  down,  "  not  from  one  lone  cloud,"  but  is  if  a 
thousand  cisterns  had  been  stove  in  at  once.  In  half  an  hour  after 
ft  shower  commenced,  the  streets  were  navigable,  the  hack-horsep 
q>Iashing  their  slow  way  through  the  flood,  carrying  home  a  few 
drenched  unfortunates. 

The  Falcon  was  detained  four  days,  which  severely  tested  the 
»emper  of  my  impatient  shipmates  I  employed  the  occasional 
^eams  of  clear  weather  in  rambling  over  the  old  French  and 
Spanish  quarters,  riding  on  the  Lafayette  Railroad  or  driving  out 
the  Shell  Road  to  the  cemetei-y,  where  the  dead  are  buried  above 
ground.  The  French  part  of  the  city  is  unique  and  interesting 
All  the  innovation  is  confined  to  the  American  Municipalities, 
which  resemble  the  business  parts  of  our  Northern  cities.  The 
curious  one-storied  dwellings,  with  jalousies  and  tiled  roofs,  of  the 
last  century,  have  not  been  disturbed  in  the  region  below  Canal 
street.  The  low  houses,  where  the  oleander  and  crape  myrtle 
still  look  over  the  walls,  were  once  inhabited  by  the  luxurious 
French  planters,  but  now  display  such  signs  as  "  Magazin  des 
Modes,"  "  Au  bon  marche,"  or  "  Perrot,  Coiffeur."  Some  oi 
the  more  pretending  mansions  show  the  porte  cochere  and  heavy 
barred  windows  of  the  hotels  of  Paris,  and  the  common  taverns, 
with  their  smoky  aspect  and  the  blue  bloases  that  fill  them,  are 
exact  counterparts  of  some  I  have  seen  in  the  Rue  St.  Antoine 
The  body  of  the  Cathe<lral,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  Place  d' 
Armes,  was  torn  down,  and  workmen  were  employed  in  building 
a  prison  in  its  stead  ;  but  the  front,  with  its  venerable  tower  and 


§  ELDORADO. 

refreshing  appearance  of  antiquity,  will  remain,  hiding  behind  its 
changeless  face  far  different  passions  and  darker  spectacles  than 
in  the  Past. 

The  hour  of  departure  at  length  arrived.  The  levee  opposite 
our  anchorage,  in  Lafayette  City,  was  thronged  with  a  noisy  mul- 
titude, congregated  to  witness  the  embarcation  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  additional  passengers.  Our  deck  became  populous  with  fcall^ 
gaunt  Mississipians  and  Arkansans,  Missouri  squatters  who  had 
pulled  up  their  stakes  yet  another  time,  and  an  ominous  nunibei 
of  professed  gamblers.  All  were  going  to  seek  their  fortunes  in 
California,  but  very  few  had  any  definite  idea  of  the  country  or 
the  voyage  to  be  made  before  reaching  it.  There  were  among 
them  some  new  varieties  of  the  American — ^long,  loosely-jointed 
men,  with  large  hands  and  feet  and  limbs  which  would  still  be 
awkward,  whatever  the  fashion  of  their  clothes.  Their  faces  were 
lengthened,  deeply  sallow,  overhung  by  straggling  locks  of  straight 
black  hair,  and  wore  an  expression  of  settled  melancholy.  The 
corners  of  their  mouths  curved  downwards,  the  upper  lip  drawn 
slightly  over  the  under  one,  giving  to  the  lower  part  of  the  face 
that  cast  of  destructiveness  peculiar  to  the  Indian.  These  men 
chewed  tobacco  at  a  ruinous  rate,  and  spent  their  time  either  in 
lozing  at  full  length  on  the  deck  or  going  into  the  fore-cabin  for 
'  drinks.'  Each  one  of  them  carried  arms  enough  for  a  small 
•^mpany  and  breathed  defiance  to  all  foreigners. 

We  had  a  voyage  of  seven  days,  devoid  of  incident,  to  th« 
lathmus.  During  the  fourth  night  we  passed  between  Cuba  and 
Yucatan.  Then,  after  crossing  the  mouth  of  the  G-ulf  of  Hon- 
duras, where  we  met  the  south-eastern  trades,  and  running  the 
gauntlet  of  a  cluster  of  coral  keys,  for  the  navigation  of  which  ac 
chart  can  be  positively  depended  upon,  we  came  into  the  dflcp 


C11AGRE8,    FROM    THE    SEA.  • 

water  of  tie  Caribbean  Sea.  Tlie  waves  ran  high  undei  a  duL 
rain  and  raw  wind,  more  like  Newfoundland  weather  than  th« 
tropics.  On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  we  approached  lani 
All  hands  gathered  on  deck,  peering  into  the  mist  for  the  fiivt 
glimpse  of  the  Isthmus.  Suddenly  a  heavy  rain-cloud  lifted,  nvi 
we  saw,  about  five  «iiles  distant,  the  headland  of  Porto  Bello — • 
bold,  rocky  promontory,  fringed  with  vegetation  and  washed  at 
its  foot  by  a  line  of  snowy  breakers.  The  range  of  the  Andes  of 
Darien  towered  high  behind  the  coast,  the  further  summits  lost  in 
the  rain.  Turning  to  the  south-west,  we  followed  the  magnificent 
sweep  of  hills  toward  Chagres,  passing  Navy  Bay,  the  Atlantic 
terminus  of  the  Panama  Railroad.  The  entrance  is  narrow,  be- 
tween two  bold  bluflFs,  opening  into  a  fine  land-locked  harbor, 
surrounded  by  hills. 

Chagres  lies  about  eight  miles  to  the  west  of  this  bay,  but  thft 
mouth  of  the  river  is  so  narrow  that  the  place  is  not  seen  till  yon 
run  close  upon  it.  The  eastern  shore  is  high  and  steep,  cloven 
with  ravines  which  roll  their  floods  of  tropical  vegetation  down  to 
the  sea.  The  old  castle  of  San  Lorenzo  crowns  the  point,  occu- 
pying a  position  somewhat  similar  to  the  Moro  Castle  at  Havana, 
and  equally  impregnable.  Its  brown  battlements  and  embrasures 
have  many  a  daik  and  stirring  recollection.  Morgan  and  his 
buccaneers  scaled  its  walls,  took  and  leveled  it,  after  a  fight  in 
which  all  but  thirty-three  out  of  three  hundred  and  fourteen  do- 
fenders  were  slain,  some  of  them  leaping  madly  from  the  precipice 
mto  the  sea.  Strong  as  it  is  by  nature,  and  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  an  enterprising  people,  it  now  looks  harmless  enough  with  a  few 
old  cannon  lyins  la/aly  on  its  ramparts.  The  other  sido  of  the 
river  is  flat  and  marshy,  and  from  our  place  of  anchorage  we  eonld 
raly  see  the  tops  of  some  huts  among  the  trees. 
1* 


10  ELDORADO. 

We  came  to  anchor  about  half  past  four.  The  deck  was  already 
covered  with  luggage  and  everybody  was  anxious  to  leave  first. 
Our  captain,  clerk,  and  a  bearer  of  dispatches,  were  pulled  ashore 
in  the  steamer's  boat,  and  in  the  meantime  the  passengers  formed 
themselves  into  small  companies  for  the  journey  up  the  river.  An 
immense  canoe,  or  "  dug-out,"  manned  by  half-naked  nativei 
ihortly  came  out,  and  the  most  of  the  companies  managed  to  get 
Agents  on  board  to  secure  canoes  for  them.  The  clerk,  on  his  re- 
tarn,  was  assailed  by  such  a  storm  of  questions — the  passengers 
leaning  half-way  over  the  bulwarks  in  their  eagerness  for  news — 
that  for  a  few  minutes  he  could  not  make  himself  heard.  When 
the  clamor  subsided,  he  told  us  that  the  Pacific  steamer  would 
Bail  from  Panama  on  the  1st  of  August,  and  that  the  only  canoes 
to  be  had  that  night  were  already  taken  by  Captain  Hartstein, 
who  was  then  making  his  way  up  the  Rio  Chagres,  in  rain  and 
thick  darkness.  The  trunks  and  blankets  were  therefore  taken 
below  again  and  we  resigned  ourselves  to  another  night  on  board, 
with  a  bare  chance  of  sleep  in  the  disordered  state-rooms  and 
among  the  piles  of  luggage.  A  heavy  cloud  on  the  sea  broke  out 
momently  into  broad  scarlet  flashes  of  lightning,  surpassing  any 
celestial  pyrotechnics  I  ever  witnessed.  The  dark  walls  of  San 
Lorenzo,  the  brilliant  clusters  of  palms  on  the  shore  and  the 
green,  rolling  hills  of  the  interior,  leaped  at  intervals  out  of  the 
gloom,  as  vividly  seen  as  under  the  noon-day  son. 


CHAPTER  II. 


CROSSING    THE     ISTHMUS. 


I  LEFT  the  Falcon  at  day-break  in  the  ship's  boat.  We  rounded 
the  high  bluff  on  which  the  castle  stands  and  found  beyond  it  a 
shallow  little  bay,  on  the  eastern  side  of  which,  on  low  srround, 
gtani  the  cane  huts  of  Chagres.  Piling  up  our  luggage  on  the 
shore,  each  one  set  about  searching  for  the  canoes  which  had  been 
engaged  the  night  previous,  but,  without  a  single  exception,  the 
natives  were  not  to  be  found,  or  when  found,  had  broken  theii 
bargains.  Everybody  ran  hither  and  thither  in  great  excitement, 
anxious  to  be  off  before  everybody  else,  and  hurrying  the  naked 
boatmen,  all  to  no  purpose.  The  canoes  were  beached  on  the 
mud,  and  their  owners  engaged  in  re-thatching  their  covers  with 
split  leaves  of  the  palm.  The  doors  of  the  huta  were  filled  with 
men  and  women,  each  in  a  single  cotton  garment,  composedly 
smoking  their  cigars,  while  numbers  of  children,  in  Nature's  own 
clothing,  ttunbled  about  in  the  sun.  Having  started  without 
breakfast,  I  went  to  the  "  Crescent  City"  Hotel,  a  hut  with  a  floor 
to  it,  but  could  get  nothing.  Some  of  my  fi-iends  had  fared  better 
at  one  of  the  native  huts,  and  I  sat  down  to  the  remains  of  theii 
meal,  which  was  spread  on  a  hen-coop  beside  the  door.  The  piga 
of  the  vicinity  and  several  lean  dogs  surrounded  me  to  offer  theii 


12  ELDORADO. 

services,  but  maintained  a  respectful  silencf ,  wbich  is  more  than 
could  be  said  of  pigs  at  home.  Some  pieces  of  pork  fat,  with 
fresh  bread  and  a  draught  of  sweet  spring  water  from  a  cocoa 
shell,  made  me  a  delicious  repast. 

A  returning  Californian  had  just  reached  the  place,  with  a  box 
containing  $22,000  in  gold-dust,  and  a  four-pound  lump  in  one 
li  and.  The  impatience  and  excitement  of  the  passengers,  already 
at  a  high  pitch,  was  greatly  increased  by  his  appearance.  Life 
and  death  were  small  matters  compared  with  immediate  departure 
from  Chagres.  Men  ran  up  and  down  the  beach,  shouting,  gesti- 
culating, and  getting  feverishly  impatient  at  the  deliberate  habits 
cf  the  natives ;  as  if  their  arrival  in  California  would  thereby  be 
at  all  hastened.  The  boatmen,  knowing  very  well  that  two  more 
steamers  were  due  the  next  day,  remained  provokingly  cool  and 
unconcerned.  They  had  not  seen  six  months  of  emigration  with- 
out learning  something  of  the  American  habit  of  going  at  full 
speed.  The  word  of  starting  in  use  on  the  Chagres  River,  is  "  go- 
ahead  !"      Captain  C and  Mr.   M ,  of  Baltimore,  and 

myself,  were  obliged  to  pay  $15  each,  for  a  canoe  to  Cruces.  We 
chose  a  broad,  trimly-cut  craft,  which  the  boatmen  were  covering 
with  fresh  thatch.  We  stayed  with  them  until  all  was  ready,  and 
they  had  pushed  it  through  the  mud  and  shoal  water  to  the  bank 
before  Ramos's  house.  Our  luggage  was  stowed  away,  we  took 
our  seats  and  raised  our  umbrellas,  but  the  men  had  gone  off  for 
provisions  and  were  not  to  be  found.  All  the  other  canoes  were 
equally  in  limbo.  The  sun  blazed  down  on  the  swampy  shores, 
Mid  visions  of  yellow  fever  came  into  the  minds  of  the  more  timid 
travelers.  The  native  boys  brought  to  us  bottles  of  fresh  water, 
biscuits  and  fruit,  presenting  them  with  the  words :  "  bit  !*'  "  pi 
caytme !"    **  Your  bread  is  not  good,"  I  said  to  one  of  the  shirt 


QUARREL    WITH    A    NATIVE.  13 

less  traders  ''Si,  Senor  f''  was  his  decided  answer,  while  he 
tossed  back  his  childish  head  with  a  look  of  offended  dignity  which 
charmed  mo.  While  sitting  patiently  in  onr  craft,  I  was  much 
diverted  by  seeing  one  of  onr  passengers  issue  from  a  hut  with  a 
native  on  each  arm,  and  march  them  resolutely  down  to  the  river. 
Our  own  men  appeared  towards  noon,  with  a  bag  of  rice  and  dried 
pork,  and  an  armfiil  of  sugar-cane.  A  few  strokes  of  their  broad 
paddles  took  us  from  the  excitement  and  noise  of  the  landing-place 
to  the  seclusion  and  beauty  of  the  river  scenery. 

Our  chief  boatman,  named  Ambrosio  Mendez,  was  of  the  mixed 
Indian  and  Spanish  race.  The  second,  Juan  Crispin  Bega,  be- 
longed to  the  lowest  class,  almost  entirely  of  negro  blood.  Ho 
was  a  strong,  jovial  fellow,  and  took  such  good  care  of  some  of  our 
small  articles  as  to  relieve  us  from  all  further  trouble  about  them. 
This  propensity  is  common  to  all  of  his  caste  on  the  Isthmus.  In 
addition  to  these,  a  third  man  was  given  to  us,  with  the  assurance 
that  he  would  work  his  passage  ;  but  just  as  we  were  leaving,  we 
learned  that  he  wa?  a  runaway  soldier,  who  had  been  taken  up  for 
theft  and  was  released  on  pajdng  some  sub-alcalde  three  bottles  of 
liquor,  promising  to  quit  the  place  at  once.  We  were  scarcely 
out  of  sight  of  the  town  before  he  demanded  five  dollars  a  day  for 
his  labor.  We  refused,  and  he  stopped  working.  Upon  our 
threatening  to  set  him  ashore  in  the  jungle,  he  took  up  the  paddle, 
but  used  it  so  awkwardly  and  perversely  that  our  other  men  lost 
ill  patience.  We  were  obliged,  however,  to  wait  until  we  could 
reach  Gatun,  ten  miles  distant,  before  settling  matters.  Juan 
struck  up  "  Oh  Susanna !"  which  he  sang  to  a  most  ludicrous 
imitation  of  the  words,  and  I  lay  back  under  the  palm  leaves, 
looking  out  of  the  sterr  of  the  canoe  on  the  forests  of  the  Chagres 
River 


M  5I,D0RAD0. 

Tlierc  is  uotliing  iu  the  world  comparable  to  these  forests.  No 
iescriptiou  that  I  have  ever  read  conveys  an  idea  of  the  splendid 
overplus  of  vegetable  life  within  the  tropics.  The  river,  broad, 
and  with  a  swift  current  of  the  sweetest  water  I  ever  drank,  windv 
between  walls  of  foliage  that  rise  from  its  very  surface.  All  th# 
gorgeous  growths  of  an  eternal  Summer  are  so  mingled  in  one 
impenetrable  mass,  that  the  eye  is  bewildered.  From  the  rank 
jungle  of  canes  and  gigantic  lilies,  and  the  thickets  of  strange 
ahrubs  that  line  the  water,  rise  the  trunks  of  the  mango,  the  ceiba, 
the  cocoa,  the  sycamore  and  the  superb  palm.  Plaintains  take 
root  in  the  banks,  hiding  the  soil  with  their  leaves,  shaken  and 
split  into  immense  plumes  by  the  wind  and  rain.  The  zapote, 
with  a  fruit  the  size  of  a  man's  head,  the  gourd  tree,  and  other 
vegetable  wonders,  attract  the  eye  on  all  sides.  Blossoms  oi 
crimson,  purple  and  yeUow,  of  a  form  and  magnitude  unknown  in 
the  North,  are  mingled  with  the  leaves,  and  flocks  of  paroquets 
and  brilliant  butterflies  circle  through  the  air  like  blossoms  blown 
away.  Sometimes  a  spike  of  scarlet  flowers  is  thrust  forth  like 
the  tongue  of  a  serpent  from  the  heart  of  some  convolution  of  un 
folding  leaves,  and  often  the  creepers  and  parasites  drop  trails  and 
Btrearoers  of  fragrance  from  boughs  that  shoot  half-way  across  the 
river.  Every  turn  of  the  stream  only  disclosed  another  and  more 
magnificent  vista  of  leaf,  bough  and  blossom.  All  outline  of  the 
landscape  is  lost  under  this  deluge  of  vegetation.  No  trace  of  the 
Hoil  is  to  be  seen  ;  lowland  and  highland  are  the  same  ;  a  moan 
tain  is  but  a  higher  swell  of  the  mass  of  verdure.  As  on  the 
ocean,  vou  have  a  sense  rather  than  a  perception  of  beauty  The 
«harp  clear  lines  of  our  scenery  at  home  are  here  wanting.  Whal 
shape  the  land  would  be  if  cleared,  you  cannot  tell.  You  gaze 
upon  the  scene  before  you  with  a  never-sated  delight,  till  your 


TnE    VILLAGF.    OF    GATDN.  It 

brain  aches  with  the  sensation,  and  you  close  your  eyes,  over 
whelmed  with  the  thought  that  all  these  wonders  have  been  firoiB 
the  beginning — that  year  after  year  takes  away  no  leaf  or  blossom 
diat  is  not  replaced,  but  the  sublime  mystery  of  growth  and  decay 
8  renewed  forever. 

In  the  afternoon  we  reached  Gatun,  a  small  village  of  bamboc 
hilts,  thatched  with  palm-leaves,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river 
The  canoes  which  preceded  us  had  already  stopped,  and  the  boat 
men,  who  have  a  mutual  understanding,  had  decided  to  remain 
all  night.  We  ejected  our  worthless  passenger  on  landing,  not- 
withstanding his  passive  resistance,  and  engaged  a  new  boatmam 
in  his  place,  at  $8.  I  shall  never  forget  the  forlorn  look  ot  the 
man  as  he  sat  on  the  bank  beside  his  bag  of  rice,  as  the  rain 
began  to  fall.  Ambrosio  took  us  to  one  of  the  huts  and  engaged 
hammocks  for  the  night.  Two  wooden  drums,  beaten  by  boys,  in 
another  part  of  the  village,  gave  signs  of  a  coming  fandango,  and 
as  it  was  Sunday  night,  all  the  natives  were  out  in  their  best 
dresses.  They  are  a  very  cleanly  people,  bathing  daily,  and 
changing  their  dresses  as  often  as  they  are  soiled.  The  children 
have  their  heads  shaved  from  the  crown  to  the  neck,  and  as  they 
go  about  naked,  with  abdomens  unnaturally  distended,  from  an 
exclusive  vegetable  diet,  are  odd  figures  enough.  They  have 
bright  black  eyes,  and  are  quick  and  intelligent  in  their  speech 
and  motions. 

The  inside  of  onr  hot  was  but  a  single  room,  in  which  all  the 
household  operations  were  carried  on.  A  notched  pole,  serving 
Bs  a  ladder,  led  to  a  sleeping  loft,  under  the  pyramidal  roof  of 
ihatch  Here  a  number  of  the  emigrants  who  arrived  late  wer€ 
•towed  away  on  a  rattling  floor  of  cane,  covered  with  hides.  After 
t  Bupper  of  pork  and  coffee,  I  made  my  day's  notes  by  the  lijfhl 


16  ELDORADO. 

of  a  miserable  starvoUng  candle,  stuck  in  an  empty  bottle,  but  baci 
not  written  far  before  my  paper  was  covered  with  fleas.  The 
owner  of  the  hut  swung  my  hammock  meanwhile,  and  I  turned  in 
to  secure  it  for  the  night.  To  lie  there  was  one  thing,  to  sleep 
another.  A  dozen  natives  crowded  round  the  table,  drinking 
their  aguardiente  and  disputing  vehemently  ;  the  cooking  fire  was 
on  one  side  of  me,  and  every  one  that  passed  to  and  fro  was  sure 
to  give  me  a  thump,  while  my  weight  swung  the  hammock  so  low, 
that  all  the  dog?  on  the  premises  were  constantly  rubbing  their 
backs  under  me.  I  was  just  sinking  into  a  doze,  when  my  head 
was  so  violently  agitated  that  I  started  up  in  some  alarm.  It  was 
but  a  quarrel  about  payment  between  the  Seiiora  and  a  boatman, 
one  standing  on  either  side.  From  their  angry  gestures,  my  own 
head  and  not  the  reckoning,  seemed  the  subject  of  contention. 

Our  men  were  to  have  started  at  midnight,  but  it  was  two 
hours  later  before  we  could  rouse  and  muster  them  together.  We 
went  silently  and  rapidly  up  the  river  till  sunrise,  when  we  reached 
a  cluster  Df  huts  called  Dos  Hermanos  (Two  Brothers.)  Ilerc 
we  overtook  two  canoes,  which,  in  their  anxiety  to  get  ahead,  had 
been  all  night  on  the  river.  There  had  been  only  a  slight  shower 
since  we  started ;  but  the  clouds  began  to  gather  heavily,  and  by 
the  time  we  had  gained  the  ranche  of  Palo  Matida  a  sudden  cold 
wind  came  over  the  forests,  and  the  air  was  at  once  darkened. 
We  sprang  ashore  and  barely  reached  the  hut,  a  few  paces  oflF, 
when  the  rain  broke  over  us,  as  if  the  sky  had  caved  in.  A  dozen 
lines  of  white  electric  heat  ran  down  from  the  zenith,  followed  by 
crashes  of  thunder,  which  I  could  feel  throbbing  in  the  earth  under 
my  feet.  The  rain  drove  into  one  side  of  the  cabio  and  out  the 
otiher,  but  we  wrapped  ourselves  in  India-rubber  clotb  and  kep< 
out  the  wet  and  chilling  air.     During  the  whole  day  the  river  rose 


SONGS    ON    THE    RIVER.  17 

rapidly  and  we  were  obliged  to  hug  the  bauk  closely,  running 
under  the  boughs  of  trees  and  diawing  ourselves  up  the  rapids 
by  those  that  hung  low. 

I  crept  out  of  the  snug  nest  where  we  were  all  stowed  as  c.osely 
as  three  unfledged  sparrows,  and  took  my  seat  between  Juan  and 
Ambrosio,  protected  from  the  rain  by  an  India-rubber  poncho 
The  clothing  of  our  men  was  likewise  waterproof,  but  without 
seam  or  fold.  It  gave  no  hindrance  to  the  free  play  of  their 
muscles,  as  they  deftly  and  rapidly  plied  the  broad  paddles 
Juan  kept  time  to  the  Ethiopian  melodies  he  had  picked  up  from 
the  emigrants,  looking  roimd  from  time  to  time  with  a  grin  of 
satisfaction  at  his  skill.  I  preferred,  however,  hearing  the  native 
songs,  which  the  boatmen  sing  with  a  melancholy  drawl  on  the 
final  syllable  of  every  line,  giving  the  music  a  peculiar  but  not 
unpleasant  effect,  when  heard  at  a  little  distance.  There  was 
one,  in  particular,  which  he  sang  with  some  expression,  the  re- 
frain running  thus : 

"  Ten  piedad,  piedad  de  mis  penas. 
Ten  piedad,  piedad  de  mi  amor!" 
(Have  pity  on  my  suflFerings — have  pity  on  my  lore!) 

Singing  begets  thirst,  and  perhaps  Juan  sang  the  more  that  he 
might  have  a  more  frequent  claim  on  the  brandy.  The  bottle 
was  then  produced  and  each  swallowed  a  mouthful,  after  which 
he  dipped  his  cocoa  shell  in  the  river  and  took  a  long  draught. 
This  is  a  universal  custom  among  the  boatmen,  and  the  traveler 
is  obliged  to  supply  them.  As  a  class,  they  are  faithful,  hard- 
working and  grateful  for  kindness.  They  have  faults,  the  worst 
of  which  are  tardiness,  and  a  propensity  to  filch  small  articles ; 
but  good  treatment  wins  upon  them  in  almost  every  case,     Juan 


18  El.DOUADO. 

said  to  me  in  the  beginning  "  soy  tu  amigo  yoj**  {Americanici  :  1 
am  thy  friend,  well  I  am,)  but  when  he  asked  me,  in  turn,  for 
every  article  of  clothing  I  wore,  I  began  to  think  his  friendship 
not  the  most  disinterested  Ambrosio  told  me  that  they  would 
serye  no  one  well  who  treated  them  badly.  "  K  the  Americans 
are  good,  we  are  good  ;  if  they  abuse  us,  we  are  bad.  We  are 
black,  but  muckos  caballeros,"  (very  much  of  gentlemen,)  said 
he.  Many  blustering  fellows,  with  their  belts  stuck  full  of  pistols 
and  bowie-knives,  which  they  draw  on  all  occasions,  but  take 
good  care  not  to  use,  have  brought  reproach  on  the  country  by 
their  silly  conduct.  It  is  no  bravery  to  put  a  revolver  to  the 
head  of  an  unarmed  and  ignorant  native,  and  the  boatmen  have 
sense  enough  to  be  no  longer  terrified  by  it. 

We  stopped  the  second  night  at  Peiia  Blanca,  (the  White 
Rock,)  where  I  slept  in  the  loft  of  a  hut,  on  the  floor,  in  the 
midst  of  the  family  and  six  other  travelers.  We  started  at  sun- 
rise, hoping  to  reach  Grorffona  the  same  night,  but  ran  upon  a 
sunken  log  and  were  detained  some  time.  Ambrosio  finally  re- 
leased us  by  jumping  into  the  river  and  swimming  ashore  with  a 
rope  in  his  teeth.  The  stream  was  very  high,  running  at  least  five 
miles  an  hour,  and  we  could  only  stem  it  with  great  labor.  We 
passed  the  ranches  of  Agua  Salud,  Varro  Colorado  and  Palan- 
quilla,  and  shortly  after  were  overtaken  by  a  storm  on  the  ri^er. 
We  could  hear  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  rain,  as  it  came  towards 
OS  like  the  trampling  of  myriad  feet  on  the  leaves.  Shooting 
under  a  broad  sycamore  we  made  fast  to  the  boughs,  covered  our- 
Belves  with  India-rubber,  and  lay  under  our  cool,  rustling  thatch 
of  palm,  until  the  storm  had  passed  over. 

The  character  of  the  scenery  changed  somewhat  as  we  ad- 
vanced.    The  air  was  purer,  and  the  banks  more  bold  and  steepi 


*  priest's  household.  19 

The  country  showed  more  signs  of  cnltiyation,  and  in  many  plaoee 
the  forest  had  been  lopped  away  to  make  room  for  fields  of  maize, 
plantain  and  rice.  But  the  vegetation  was  still  that  of  the 
tropics  and  many  were  the  long  and  lonely  reaches  of  the  river 
irhere  we  glided  between  piled  masses  of  bloom  and  greenery.  1 
remember  one  spot,  where,  from  the  crest  of  a  steep  hill  to  tin 
edge  of  the  water,  descended  a  flood,  a  torrent  of  vegetation 
Treea  were  rolled  upon  trees,  woven  intc  a  sheet  by  parasitic  vines, 
that  leaped  into  the  air  like  spray,  from  the  topmost  bon^is. 
When  a  wind  slightly  agitated  the  sea  of  leaves,  and  the  vinet 
were  flung  like  a  green  foam  on  the  surface  of  the  river,  it  WM 
almost  impossible  not  to  feel  that  the  flood  was  about  mshing 
down  to  overwhelm  us. 

We  stopped  four  hours  short  of  Gorgona,  at  the  hacienda  of 
San  Pablo,  the  residence  of  Padre  Dutaris,  cure  of  all  the  in- 
terior. Ambrosio  took  us  to  his  house  by  a  path  across  a  rolling, 
open  savanna,  dotted  by  palms  and  acacias  of  immense  size 
Herds  of  cattle  and  horses  were  grazing  on  the  short,  thick-leaveo 
grass,  and  appeared  to  be  in  excellent  condition.  The  padre 
owns  a  large  tract  of  land,  with  a  thousand  head  of  stock,  and  hit 
ranche  commands  a  beautiful  view  up  and  down  the  river.  Am- 
brosio was  acquainted  with  his  wife,  and  by  recommending  ns  u 
butnos  caballtros,  procured  us  a  splendid  supper  of  fowls,  e^s, 
rice  boiled  in  cocoa  milk,  and  chocolate,  with  baked  plantains  for 
bre»d  Those  who  came  after  us  had  diflBculty  in  getting  any- 
thing. The  padre  had  been  frequently  cheated  by  Americana 
and  was  therefore  cautious.  He  was  absent  at  the  time,  bat  hia 
•on  Felipe,  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old,  assisted  in  doing  the  honors 
with  wonderful  grace  and  self-possession.  His  tawny  skin  wat 
as  *>ft  as  velvet,  and  his  black  eyes  sparkled  like  jewels.     He  is 


20  KLDOEADO. 

almost  the  only  fiving  model  of  the  Apollino  that  I  ever  saw.  He 
sat  in  the  hammock  with  me,  leaning  over  my  shoulder  as  I  noted 
down  the  day's  doingd,  and  when  I  had  done,  wrote  his  name  is 
my  hook,  in  an  elegart  hand.  I  slept  soundly  in  the  midst  of  an 
uproar,  and  only  awoke  at  four  o'clock  next  morning,  to  hmrrj 
our  men  in  leaving  for  Gorgona. 

The  current  was  very  strong  and  in  some  places  it  was  almost 
impossihle  to  make  headway.  Our  boatmen  worked  hard,  and  by 
dint  of  strong  poling  managed  to  jump  through  most  difficult 
places.  Their  naked,  sinewy  forms,  bathed  in  sweat,  shone  like 
polished  bronze.  Ambrosio  was  soon  exhausted,  and  lay  down ; 
but  Miguel,  our  corps  de  reserve^  put  his  agile  spirit  into  the 
work  and  flung  himself  upon  the  pole  with  such  vigor  that  all  the 
muscles  of  his  body  quivered  as  the  boat  shot  ahead  and  relaxed 
them.  About  half-way  to  Grorgona  we  rounded  the  foot  of  Monte 
Carabali,  a  bold  peak  clothed  with  forests  and  crowned  with  a 
single  splendid  palm.  This  hiU  is  the  only  one  in  the  province 
firom  which  both  oceans  may  be  seen  at  once. 

As  we  neared  Gorgona,  our  men  began  repeating  the  ominous 
words  :  "  Cruets — mucha  colera."  We  had,  in  fact,  already  heard 
of  the  prevalence  of  cholera  there,  but  doubted,  none  the  less, 
their  wish  to  shorten  the  journey.  On  climbing  the  bank  to  the 
village,  I  called  immediately  at  the  store  of  Mr.  Miller,  the  only 
American  resident,  who  informed  me  that  several  passengers  by 
the  Falcon  had  already  left  for  Panama,  the  route  being  reported 
passable.  In  the  door  of  ihe  alcalde's  house,  near  at  hand,  I 
met  Mr.  Powers,  who  had  left  New  York  a  short  time  previous 
to  my  departure,  and  was  about  starting  for  Panama  on  foot, 
mules  being  very  scarce.  While  we  were  deliberating  whether  to 
go  00  tc  Oruces,  Ambrosio  beckoned  me  into  an  adjoining  hat 


AN    AFFKCTIO-^Alfi    BOATMAN.  HH 

'the  owner,  a  very  venerable  and  dignified  native,  received  me 
swinging  in  his  hammock.  He  had  six  horses  which  he  would 
furnish  us  the  next  morning,  at  ^10  the  head  for  riding  animals, 
•nd  $6  for  each  100  lbs.  of  freight.  The  bargain  was  instantlf 
eoncluded. 

Now  came  the  settlement  with  our  boatmen.  In  addition  tr. 
the  fare,  half  of  which  was  paid  in  Chagres,  we  had  promised 
them  a  gratificacion^  provided  they  made  the  voyage  in  three 
days.  The  contract  was  not  exactly  fulfilled,  but  we  thought  h 
best  to  part  friends  and  so  gave. them  each  a  dollar.  Their  an- 
tics of  delight  were  most  laughable.  They  grinned,  laughed, 
danced,  caught  us  by  the  hands,  vowed  eternal  friendship  and 
would  have  embraced  us  outright,  had  we  given  them  the  least 
encouragement.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  I  met  Juan,  in  a  clean 
shirt  and  white  pantaloons.  There  was  a  heat  ia  his  eye  and  a 
ruddiness  under  his  black  skin,  which  readily  explained  a  little 
incoherence  in  his  speech.  "  Mi  amigo .'"  he  cried,  "  m  huen 
amigo !  give  me  a  bottle  of  beer  !"  I  refused.  "  But,"  said 
he,  "  we  are  friends  ;  surely'  you  will  give  your  dear  friend  a 
bottle  of  beer,"  "  I  don't  like  my  dear  friends  to  drink  too 
much  ;"  I  answered.  Finding  I  would  not  humor  him,  as  a  last 
resort,  he  placed  both  hands  on  his  breast,  and  with  an  imploring 
look,  sang: 

**  Ten  piedad,  piedad  de  mis  penaa. 
Ten  piedad,  piedad  de  mi  amor!" 

I  burst  into  a  laugh  at  this  comical  appeal,  and  he  retreated, 
satisfied  that  he  had  at  least  done  a  smart  thing. 

During  the  afternoon  a  numoer  of  canoes  arrived,  and  as  it 
i^w  dark  the  sound  of  the  wooden  drums  proclaimed  a  faniangc 


22  ELDOftADO. 

The  aristocracy  of  Gorgona  met  in  the  Alcalde's  hoose ;  the 
Tplebs  on  a  level  sward  before  one  of  the  huts.  The  dances  were 
the  same,  but  there  was  some  attempt  at  style  by  the  former 
class.  The  ladies  were  dressed  in  white  and  pink,  with  flowers  iD 
their  hair,  and  waltzed  with  a  slow  grace  to  the  music  of  violina 
and  guitars.  The  Alcalde's  daughters  were  rather  pretty,  and  at 
once  became  favorites  of  the  Americans,  some  of  whom  joined  in 
the  fandango,  and  went  through  its  voluptuous  mazes  at  the  first 
trial,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  natives.  The  Seiiora  Catalina,  8 
rich  widow,  of  pure  Andalusian  blood,  danced  charmingly.  Hei 
little  head  was  leaned  coquettishly  on  one  side,  while  with  one  hand 
she  held  aloft  the  fringed  end  of  a  crimson  scarf,  which  rested 
lightly  on  the  opposite  shoulder.  The  dance  over,  she  took  a 
guitar  and  sang,  the  subject  of  her  song  being  "  los  amigos 
Americarios."  There  was  less  sentiment,  but  more  jollity,  at  the 
dances  on  the  grass.  The  only  accompaniment  to  the  wooden 
drums  was  the  "  tUi,  ^^  ^,"  of  the  women,  a  nasal  monotone, 
which  few  ears  have  nerve  to  endure.  Those  who  danced 
longest  and  with  the  most  voluptuous  spirit,  had  tJie  hats  of  all 
the  others  piled  upon  them,  in  token  of  applause.  These  half- 
barbaric  orgies  were  fully  seen  in  the  pure  and  splendid  light 
poured  upon  the  landscape  from  a  vertical  moon. 

Next  morning  at  daybreak  our  horses — tough  little  mustangs, 
▼hich  I  could  almost  step  over — were  at  the  door.  We  started 
off  with  a  guide,  trusting  our  baggage  to  the  honesty  of  our  host, 
who  promised  to  send  it  the  same  day.  A  servant  of  the  Alcalde 
wcorted  us  out  of  the  village,  cut  us  each  a  good  stick,  pocketed 
a  real  and  then  left  us  to  plunge  into  the  forests.  The  path  at 
the  outset  was  bad  enough,  but  as  the  wood  grew  deeper  and 
larker  and  the  tough  clay  soil  held  the  rains  which  had  fa'len,  it 


AIDING    THROUGH    THE    FORESTS.  SSS 

Decame  finally  a  narrow  gully,  filled  with  mud  nearly  to  our  horses 
bellies.  Descending  the  steep  sides  of  the  hills,  they  would  stej 
or  slide  down  almost  precipitous  passes,  bringing  up  all  straight 
at  the  bottom,  and  climbing  the  opposite  sides  like  cats.  So 
strong  is  their  mutual  confidence  that  they  invariably  step  in  each 
other's  tracks,  and  a  great  part  of  the  road  is  thus  worn  into  holes 
three  feet  deep  and  filled  with  water  and  soft  mud,  which  spirt* 
upward  as  they  go,  coating  the  rider  from  head  to  foot. 

The  mountain  range  in  the  interior  is  broken  and  irregular 
The  road  passes  over  the  lower  ridges  and  projecting  spurs  of  the 
main  chain,  covered  nearly  the  whole  distance  to  Panama  by  dense 
forests.  Above  us  spread  a  roof  of  transparent  green,  through 
which  few  rays  of  the  sunlight  fell.  The  only  sounds  in  that  leafy 
wilderness  were  the  chattering  of  monkeys  as  they  cracked  the 
palm-nuts,  and  the  scream  of  parrots,  flying  from  tree  to  tree.  In 
the  deepest  ravines  spent  mules  frequently  lay  dead,  and  high 
above  them,  on  the  large  boughs,  the  bald  vultures  waited  silently 
for  us  to  pass.  We  overtook  many  trains  of  luggage,  packed  on 
the  backs  of  bulls  and  horses,  tied  head-to-tail  in  long  files.  At 
intervals,  on  the  road,  we  saw  a  solitary  ranche,  with  a  cleared 
space  about  it,  but  all  the  natives  could  famish  us  was  a  cup  of 
thick,  black  coffee. 

After  ascending  for  a  considerable  distance,  in  the  first  half  of 
our  journey,  we  came  to  a  level  table-land,  covered  with  palms, 
with  a  higher  ridge  beyond  it.  Our  horses  climbed  it  with  some 
labor,  went  down  the  other  side  through  clefts  and  gullic* 
which  seemed  impassable,  and  brought  us  to  a  stream  of  milkj 
blue  water,  which,  on  ascertaining  its  course  with  a  compass,  1 
"bund  to  be  a  tributary  of  the  Rio  Grande,  flowing  into  the  Pacific  at 
Panama      We  now  h^ped  the  worst  part  of  our  route  was  over, 


S4  ELDORADO. 

but  this  was  a  terrible  deception.  Scrambling  up  ravines  at 
slippery  clay,  we  went  for  miles  through  swamps  and  thickets, 
urging  forward  our  jaded  beasts  by  shouting  and  beating.  Going 
down  a  precipitous  bank,  washed  soft  by  the  rains,  my  horse 
slipped  and  made  a  descent  of  ten  feet,  landing  on  one  bank  and 
I  on  another.  He  rose  quietly,  disengaged  his  head  from  the 
mud  and  stood,  flank-deep,  waiting  till  I  stepped  across  his  back 
and  went  forward,  my  legs  lifted  to  his  neck.  This  same  adven 
ture  happened  several  times  to  each  of  us  on  the  passage  acrosf 

As  we  were  leaving  Gorgona,^our  party  was  joined  by  a  lorg 
Mississippian,  whose  face  struck  me  at  the  first  glance  as  being  pe- 
culiarly cadaverous.  He  attached  himself  to  us  without  the  least 
ceremony,  leaving  his  own  party  behind.  We  had  not  ridden  far 
before  he  told  us  he  had  felt  symptoms  of  cholera  during  the  night, 
and  was  growing  worse.  We  insisted  on  his  returning  to  Gorgona 
at  once,  but  he  refused,  saying  he  was  "  bound  to  go  through." 
At  the  first  ranche  on  the  road  we  found  another  traveler,  lying 
on  the  ground  in  a  state  of  entire  prostration.  He  was  attended 
by  a  friend,  who  seemed  on  the  point  of  taking  the  epidemic,  from 
his  very  fears.  The  sight  of  this  case  no  doubt  operated  on  the 
Mississippian,  for  he  soon  became  so  racked  with  pain  as  to  keep 
his  seat  with  great  difficulty.  We  were  alarmed  ;  it  was  impos- 
sible to  stop  in  the  swampy  forest,  and  equally  impossible  to  leave 
him,  new  that  all  his  dependence  was  on  us.  The  only  thing  re- 
lembling  medicine  in  our  po8,3ession,  was  a  bottle  of  claret.  It 
was  an  unusual  remedy  for  cholera,  but  he  insisted  on  drinking  it. 

After  urging  forward  our  weary  beasts  till  late  in  the  afternoon, 
wo  were  told  that  Panama  was  four  hours  further.  We  pitied  the 
poor  horses,  but  ourselves  more,  and  determined  to  push  ahead 
After  a  repetition  of  all  our  worst  experience,  we  finally  stmok 


WE   REACH    PANAMA.  9 

ihe  remuns  of  the  paved  road  constructed  by  the  baocaneers  wfaec 
they  held  Panama.  I  now  looked  eagerly  forward  for  the  Pacific, 
but  every  ridge  showed  another  in  advance,  and  it  grew  dark  with 
a  rain  coming  up  Our  horses  avoided  the  hard  pavement  and 
took  by-paths  through  thickets  higher  than  our  heads  The  cho- 
lera-stricken emigrant,  nothing  helped  by  the  claret  he  drank, 
miplored  us,  amid  his  groans,  to  hasten  forward.  Leaning  over 
the  horse's  neck,  he  writhed  on  his  saddle  in  an  agony  of  pain, 
and  seemed  on  the  point  of  falling  at  every  step.  We  were  far  in 
advance  of  our  Indian  guide  and  lost  the  way  more  than  once  in 
the  darkness.  At  last  he  overtook  us,  washed  his  feet  in  a  mud- 
hole,  and  put  on  a  pair  of  pantaloons.  This  was  a  welcome  sign 
to  us,  and  in  fact,  we  soon  after  smelt  the  salt  air  of  the  Pacific, 
and  could  distinguish  huts  on  either  side  of  the  road.  These  gave 
place  to  stone  houses  and  massive  ruined  edifices,  overgrown  with 
vegetation.  We  passed  a  plaza  and  magnificent  church,  rci« 
down  an  open  space  fronting  the  bay,  under  a  heavy  gate-way, 
icross  another  plaza  and  through  two  or  three  narrow  streets, 
hailed  by  Americans  all  the  way  with :  "  Are  you  the  Falcon's 
passengers  .'"  "  From  Gorgona  r"  "  From  Cruces  .-*"  till  our 
guide  brought  us  up  at  the  Hotel  Americano. 

Thus  terminated  my  five  days'  journey  across  the  Isthmus — 
decidedly  more  novel,  grotesque  and  adventurous  than  any  trip 
of  similar  length  in  the  world.  It  was  rough  enough,  hut  had 
nathing  that  I  could  exactly  call  hardship,  so  much  was  the  fi^ 
tigue  balanced  by  the  enjoyment  of  unsurpassed  scenery  and  a 
continual  sensation  of  novelty.  In  spite  of  the  many  doloroua 
Mscounts  which  have  been  sent  from  the  Isthmus,  there  is  nothing, 
\i  the  worst  season,  to  deter  any  one  from  the  joorney. 

•'OL      I.  9 


CHAPTER  III. 


SCENES  IN  PANAMA. 


I  SAW  less  of  Panama  than  I  could  have  wished.  A  few  hasty 
rambles  through  its  ruined  convents  and  colleges  and  grass-grown 
plazas — a  stroll  on  its  massive  battlements,  limabered  with  idle 
oannon,  of  the  splendid  bronze  of  Barcelona — were  all  that  I  conld 
accomplish  in  the  short  stay  of  a  day  and  a  half.  Its  situation  at 
the  base  of  a  broad,  green  mountain,  with  the  sea  washing  three 
sides  of  the  narrow  promontory  on  which  it  is  built,  is  highly  pic 
turesque,  yet  some  other  parts  of  the  bay  seem  better  fitted  for 
the  purposes  of  commerce.  Vessels  of  hea^y  draught  cannot 
anchor  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  the  city,  and  there  is  but  one 
point  where  embarkation,  even  in  the  shallow  "  dug-outs"  of  the 
natives,  is  practicable.  The  bottom  of  the  bay  is  a  bed  of  rook, 
which,  at  low  tide,  lies  bare  far  out  beyond  the  ramparts.  The 
iouth-eastern  shore  of  the  bay  belongs  to  the  South-American 
Continent,  and  the  range  of  lofty  mountains  behind  it  is  constantly 
wreathed  with  light  clouds,  or  shrouded  from  view  by  the  storms 
which  it  attracts.  To  the  west  the  green  islands  of  Taboga,  and 
others,  rise  behind  one  another,  interrupting  the  blue  curve  of  the 
47atery  horiaon.  The  city  was  already  half  Amr  rican.  The  na- 
Uve  boys  whistled  Yankee  Doodle  through  the  streets,  and  8» 


PAHJlMA EMIGRANTS   ARRIVING.  itt 

fiontas  of  the  ptire  Castilian  blood  sang  the  Ethiopian  melodiei 
of  Virginia  to  their  guitars.  Nearly  half  the  faces  seen  were 
American,  and  the  signs  on  shops  of  all  kinds  appeared  in  oar 
language  On  the  morning  after  I  arrived,  I  heard  a  sudden 
rumbling  in  the  streets,  and  observing  a  general  rush  to  the  win- 
dows, followed  the  crowd  in  time  to  see  the  first  cart  made  in 
Panama — the  work  of  a  Yankee  mechanic,  detained  for  want  oi 
money  to  get  further. 

We  found  the  hotels  doing  a  thriving  business,  though  the  fiire 
and  attendance  were  alike  indifferent.  We  went  to  bed,  immedi- 
ately  after  reaching  the  Hotel  Americano,  that  our  clothes  mij^i 
be  washed  before  morning,  as  our  luggage  had  not  arrived. 
Nearly  all  the  passengers  were  in  a  similar  predicament.  Some 
ladies,  who  had  ridden  over  from  Cruces  in  male  attire,  a  short 
time  previous,  were  obliged  to  sport  their  jackets  and  pantaloons 
several  days  before  receiving  their  dresses.  Our  trust  in  the 
venerable  native  at  Gorgona  was  not  disappointed ;  the  next 
morning  his  mule  was  at  the  door,  laden  with  our  tninks  and 
valises.  Some  of  the  passengers,  however,  were  obliged  to  re- 
main in  Panama  another  month,  since,  notwithstanding  the  formal 
contract  of  the  Alcalde  of  Gorgona,  their  luggage  did  not  arrive 
before  the  sailing  of  the  steamer. 

The  next  day  nearly  all  of  our  passengers  came  in.  There  had 
been  a  heavy  rain  during  the  night,  and  the  Gorgona  road,  already 
loxt  to  impassable,  became  actually  perilous.  A  lady  from 
Maine,  who  made  the  journey  alone,  was  obliged  to  ford  a  torrent 
of  water  above  her  waist,  with  a  native  on  each  side,  to  prevent 
feer  from  being  carried  away.  A  French  lady  who  crossed  was 
washed  from  her  mule,  and  only  got  over  by  the  united  exertione 
of  seven  men 


18  ELDORADO. 

The  roads  from  Cruoes  and  Gorgona  enter  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  city,  as  well  as  the  line  of  th*^  railroad  survey.  The 
latter,  after  leaving  Limon  Bay,  runs  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Chagres  River  till  it  reaches  Gorgona,  continuing  thence  to  Pa- 
nama in  the  same  general  course  as  the  mule  route.  It  wili 
probably  be  extended  down  the  Bay  to  some  point  opposite  the 
island  of  Taboga,  which  is  marked  out  by  Nature  as  the  future 
anchorage  ground  and  depot  of  all  the  lines  touching  at  Panama. 
The  engineers  of  the  survey  accomplished  a  great  work  in  fixing 
the  route  within  so  short  a  space  of  time.  The  obstacles  to  be 
overcome  can  scarcely  be  conceived  by  one  who  has  never  seen 
tropical  vegetation  or  felt  tropical  rains.  The  greatest  difficulty 
in  constructing  the  road  is  the  want  of  stone,  though  this  is  in 
some  degree  supplied  by  abundance  of  lignum-vitae  and  other  dur- 
able wood.  The  torrents  of  rain  during  the  summer  season  mH 
require  the  side-hill  cuttings  to  be  made  of  unusual  strength. 
The  estimated  cost  of  the  road  appears  small,  especially  when  the 
value  of  labor  is  taken  into  consideration.  The  natives  are  not 
*x)  be  depended  on,  and  there  is  some  risk  in  taking  men  from  the 
United  States  half  way  to  California. 

Panama  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  cities  on  the  American 
Continent.  Its  ruins — if  those  could  be  called  ruins  which  were 
Qever  completed  edifices — and  the  seaward  view  from  its  ram- 
parts, on  a  bright  morning,  would  ravish  the  eye  of  an  artist 
Although  small  in  limit,  old  and  terribly  dilapidated,  its  situa- 
tion and  surroundings  are  of  unsurpassable  beauty.  There  is  one 
angle  of  the  walls  where  you  can  look  out  of  a  cracked  watch- 
tower  on  the  sparkling  swells  of  the  Pacific,  ridden  by  flocks  of 
inow-white  pelicans  and  the  rolling  canoes  of  the  natives — whera 
your  vision,  following  the  entire  curve  of  the  Gulf,  takes  in  OD 


RUINED    CHURCHES  flf 

either  side  nearly  a  hundred  mfles  of  shore.  The  rains  of  the 
Jesuit  Church  of  San  Felipe,  through  which  1  was  piloted  by  my 
friend,  Lieutenant  Beale,  reminded  me  of  the  Baths  of  Caracalla 
The  majestic  arches  spanning  the  nave  are  laden  with  a  wilder- 
ness of  shrubbery  and  wild  vines  which  fall  like  a  fringe  to  the 
very  floor.  The  building  is  roofless,  but  daylight  can  scarcely 
steal  in  through  the  embowering  leaves.  Several  bells,  of  a  sweet, 
silvery  ring,  are  propped  up  by  beams,  in  a  dark  corner,  but  from 
the  look  of  the  place,  ages  seem  to  have  passed  since  they  called 
the  crafty  brotherhood  to  the  oracion.  A  splendid  College,  left 
incomplete  many  years  age  fronts  on  one  of  the  plazas.  Its  Cor- 
inthian pillars  and  pilasters  of  red  sandstone  are  broken  and 
crumbling,  and  from  the  crevices  at  their  base  spring  luxuriant 
bananas,  shooting  their  large  leaves  through  the  windows  and  fold- 
ing them  around  the  columns  of  the  gateway. 

There  were  about  seven  hundred  emigrants  waiting  for  passage, 
when  I  reached  Panama.  AU  the  tickets  the  steamer  could  pos 
sibly  receive  had  been  issued  and  so  great  was  the  anxiety  to  get 
on,  that  double  price,  $600,  was  frequently  paid  for  a  ticket  to 
San  Francisco  A  few  days  before  we  came,  there  was  a  most 
violent  excitement  on  the  subject,  and  as  the  only  way  to  terminate 
the  dispute,  it  was  finally  agreed  to  dispose  by  lot  of  all  the  tick- 
ets for  sale.  The  emigrants  were  all  numbered,  and  those  with 
tickets  for  sailing  vessels  or  other  steamers  excluded.  The  re- 
mainder then  drew,  there  being  fifly-two  tickets  to  near  three 
hundred  passengers.  This  quieted  the  excitement  for  the  time, 
though  there  was  still  a  continual  under-current  of  speculation 
and  intrigue  which  was  curious  to  observe.  The  disappointed 
candidates,  for  the  most  part,  took  passage  in  sailing  vessels,  with 
a  prospect  of  seventy  days'  voyage  before  them.     A  few  monthi 


80  ELDORADO 

previouB,  when  three  thousand  persons  were  waiting  on  the  Isth 
mus,  several  small  companies  started  in  the  log  canoes  of  tht 
natives,  thinking  to  reach  San  Francisco  in  them  !  After  a  voy- 
age of  forty  days,  during  which  they  went  no  further  than  th<i 
Island  of  Quibo,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gulf,  nearly  all  of  them  re- 
turned ;  the  rest  have  not  since  been  heard  of. 

The  passengers  were  engaged  in  embarking  aU  the  afternoon  of 
the  second  day  after  my  arrival.  The  steamer  came  up  to  within 
a  mile  and  a  half  of  the  town,  and  numbers  of  canoes  plied  be- 
tween her  and  the  sea-gateway.  Native  porters  crowded  about 
the  hotels,  clamoring  for  luggage,  which  they  carried  down  to  the 
shore  under  so  fervent  a  heat  that  I  was  obliged  to  hoist  my 
ombrella.  One  of  the  boatmen  lifted  me  over  the  swells  for  the 
sake  of  a  medio  ^  and  I  was  soon  gliding  out  along  the  edge  of  the 
breakers,  startling  the  pelicans  that  flew  in  long  lines  over  the 
water.  I  was  well  satisfied  to  leave  Panama  at  the  time ;  the 
oholera,  which  had  already  carried  off  one-fourth  of  the  native 
population,  was  making  havoc  among  the  Americans,  and  several 
A  the  Falcon's  passengers  lay  at  the  point  of  death 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE    PACIFIC    COAST    OF    MEXICO. 


The  following  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  last  canoe-load 
of  mails  came  on  board.  Ten  minutes  afterwards  our  parting 
gan  was  fired,  and  its  echoes  had  not  died  away  when  the  paddles 
were  in  motion  and  the  boat  heading  for  Taboga.  We  ran  past 
several  steep  volcanic  islands,  matted  in  foliage,  and  in  an  hoiu 
came-to  before  Taboga,  which  is  to  Panama  what  Capri  is  to 
Naples,  only  that  it  is  far  more  beautiful.  In  the  deep  ana 
secure  roadstead  one  may  throw  a  stone  from  the  ship's  deck  '  ..to 
the  gardens  of  orange  and  tamarind  fringing  the  beach.  The 
village  lies  beside  a  cocoa  grove  in  a  sheltered  comer,  at  the  foot 
of  hills  which  rise  in  terraces  of  luxuriant  vegetation  to  the 
height  of  a  thousand  feet.  The  mass  of  palm,  cocoa,  banana 
and  orange  trees  is  unbroken  from  the  summit  to  the  water's 
edge.  The  ravine  behind  the  village  contains  an  unfailing  spring 
of  sweet  water,  from  which  all  vessels  touching  at  Panama  are 
^applied.     The  climate  is  delightful  and  perfectly  healthy. 

The  steamer  Oregon  was  lying  high  and  dry  on  the  beacL 
undergoing  repairs,  having  injured  her  keel  by  running  on  a  rock 
during  the  voyage  down.  The  remarkable  adaptation  of  Taboga 
for  a  dry  dock  was  shown  bv  the  fact  that  while  at  high  tide  the 


o2  ELDORADO. 

Oregon  floated,  at  low  tide  one  might  walk  around  lier  on  dry 
ground ;  by  building  two  walls  and  a  gate  *n  front,  the  dry  doch 
would  be  complete.  This  is  the  only  place  between  Cape  Horn 
and  San  Francisco  where  such  a  thing  is  possible.  These  un- 
rivaled advantages,  as  well  as  the  healthiness  of  Taboga  and  its 
splendid  scenery,  point  it  out  as  the  stopping-place  for  steamers 
and  passengers,  if  not  the  commercial  depot  of  this  part  of  the 
Pacific. 

A  voyage  from  Panama  to  San  Francisco  in  the  year  1849,  can 
hardly  be  compared  to  sea-life  in  any  other  part  of  the  world  oi 
at  any  previous  period.  Our  vessel  was  crowded  fore  and  aft : 
exercise  was  rendered  quite  impossible  and  sleep  was  each  night 
a  new  experiment,  for  the  success  of  which  we  were  truly  grateful 
We  were  roused  at  daylight  by  the  movements  on  deck,  if  not 
earlier,  by  the  breaking  of  a  hammock-rope  and  the  thump  and 
yell  of  the  unlucky  sleeper.  Coffee  was  served  in  the  cabin ;  but. 
as  many  of  the  passengers  imagined  that,  because  they  had  paid  a 
high  price  for  their  tickets,  they  were  conscientiously  obligated  to 
drink  three  cups,  the  late-comers  got  a  very  scanty  allowance. 
The  breakfast  hour  was  nine,  and  the  table  was  obliged  to  be  fully 
set  twice.  At  the  first  tingle  of  the  bell,  aU  hands  started  as  if  a 
shot  had  exploded  among  them  ;  conversation  was  broken  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  word ;  the  deck  was  instantly  cleared,  and  the 
passengers,  tumbling  pell-mell  down  the  cabin-stairs,  fotmd  every 
seat  taken  by  others  who  had  probably  been  sitting  in  them  for 
half  an  hour.  The  bell,  however,  bad  an  equally  convulsive  effect 
upon  these.  There  was  a  confused  grabbing  motion  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  lo !  the  plates  were  cleared,  A  chicken  parted  in 
twain  as  if  by  magic,  each  half  leaping  into  an  opposite  plate , 
a  diflh  of  sweet  potatoes  vanished  before  a  single  hand  ;  beefsteak 


MEAL-TIM i     ^iN    THE    STEAMER.  33 

llew  in  all  directions  ;  and  while  about  half  the  passengers  had  aL' 
dieir  breakfast  piled  at  once  upon  their  plates,  the  other  half  were 
regaled  by  a  "  plentifal  lack."  The  second  table  was  but  a  repe- 
tition of  these  scenes,  which  dinner — our  only  additional  meal- 
renewed  in  the  afternoon.  To  prevent  being  driven,  in  self-defence , 
into  the  degrading  habit,  eight  of  us  secured  one  end  of  the  second 
table,  shut  off  by  the  mizen-mast  from  the  long  arms  that  might 
otherwise  have  grabbed  our  share.  Among  our  company  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty,  there  were,  of  course,  many  gentlemen  of  marked 
refinement  and  intelligence  from  various  parts  of  the  Union — 
enough,  probably,  to  leaven  the  large  lump  of  selfishness  and 
blackguardism  into  which  we  were  thrown.  I  believe  the  control- 
ling portion  of  the  California  emigration  is  intelligent,  orderly  and 
peaceable  ;  yet  I  never  witnessed  so  many  disgusting  exhibitions 
of  the  lowest  passions  of  humanity,  as  during  the  voyage.  At  sea 
or  among  the  mountains,  men  completely  lose  the  little  arts  of  dis- 
simulation they  practise  in  society.  They  show  in  their  true  light, 
and  very  often,  alas  !  in  a  light  little  calculated  to  encourage  the 
enthusiastic  believer  in  the  speedy  perfection  of.  our  race. 

The  day  after  leaving  Panama  we  were  in  sight  of  the 
promontory  of  Veraguas  and  the  island  of  Quibo,  off  Central 
America.  It  is  a  grand  coast,  with  mountain  ranges  piercing  the 
clouds.  Then,  for  several  days,  we  gave  the  continent  a  wide 
berth,  our  course  making  a  chord  to  the  arc  of  the  Gulf  ol 
Tehuantepec.  The  sea  was  perfectly  tranquil,  and  we  were  no< 
molested  by  the  inexorable  demon  that  lodges  in  the  stomachs  o 
landMnen.  Why  has  never  a  word  been  said  or  sung  aboul 
sunset  on  the  Pacific  ?  Nowhere  on  this  earth  can  one  be  over- 
vaulted  with  such  a  glory  of  colors.  The  sky,  with  •  ground-hue 
of  rose  towards  the  west  and  purple  towards  the  east,  is  mottlec' 
8* 


94  ELDORADO 

and  flecked  over  all  its  surface  with  light  clouds,  running  throngk 
every  shade  of  crimson,  amber,  violet  and  russet-gold.  There  is 
no  dead  duskiness  opposite  the  sunken  sun  ;  the  whole  vast  shell 
of  the  firmament  glows  with  an  equal  radiance,  reduphcating  ita 
hues  on  the  glassy  sea,  so  that  we  seem  floating  in  a  hollow  sphere 
of  prismatic  crystal.  The  cloud-strata,  at  different  heights  in 
the  air,  take  diflerent  coloring ;  through  bars  of  burning  carmine 
one  may  look  on  the  soft,  rose-purple  folds  of  an  inner  curtain, 
and,  far  within  and  beyond  that,  on  the  clear  amber-green  of  the 
immaculate  sky.  As  the  light  diminishes,  these  radiant  vapors 
sink  and  gather  into  flaming  pyramids,  between  whose  pinnacles 
the  serene  depth  of  air  is  of  that  fathomless  violet-green  which 
we  see  in  the  skies  of  Titian. 

The  heat,  during  this  part  of  the  voyage,  was  intolerable. 
The  thermometer  ranged  from  82°  to  84°  at  night,  and  86*'  to 
90°  by  day — a  lower  temperature  than  we  frequently  feel  in  the 
North,  but  attended  by  an  enervating  languor  such  as  I  never 
before  experienced.  Under  its  influence  one's  energies  flag, 
active  habits  of  mind  are  thrown  aside,  the  imagination  grows 
faint  and  hazy,  the  very  feelings  and  sensibilities  are  melted  and 
weakened.  Once,  I  panted  for  the  heat  and  glare  and  splendid 
luxuriance  of  tropical  lands,  till  I  almost  made  the  god  of  the 
Persians  my  own.  I  thought  some  southern  star  must  have  been 
ui  the  ascendant  at  my  birth,  some  glowing  instinct  of  the  South 
been  infused  into  my  nature.  Two  months  before,  the  thought  o( 
riding  on  that  summer  sea,  with  the  sun  over  the  mast-head, 
would  have  given  a  delicious  glow  to  my  fancy.  But  all  my  vision 
of  life  in  the  tropics  vanished  before  the  apathy  engendered  by 
this  heat.  The  snowy,  bleak  and  sublime  North  beckoned  me 
like  a  mirage  ever  the  recediner  seas      Gods  !  how  a  sii^le  sough 


A    MIDNIGHT    CALL    AT    ACAPULCO.  3ft 

jf  keen  nortL-west  wind  down  some  mountain  gorge  would  haye 
beaten  a  march  of  exulting  energy  to  my  spirit !  how  my  veins 
would  have  tingled  to  the  sound,  and  my  nerves  stiffened  in  the 
healthy  embraces  of  that  ruder  air  ! 

After  a  week  of  this  kind  of  existence  we  passed  the  sun'i 
latitude,  and  made  the  mountains  of  Mexico.  The  next  night 
ire  came-to  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  of  Acapulco,  while  the 
ship's  boat  went  to  the  city,  some  two  miles  distant.  In  about 
two  hours  it  retiirned,  bringing  us  word  that  thirty  or  fortj 
Americans  were  waiting  passage,  most  of  whom  were  persons  whc 
had  left  Panama  in  the  Humboldt  in  March,  and  who  had  already 
been  three  months  in  port.  Captain  Bailey  determined  to  take 
them  on  board,  and  the  Panama  felt  her  way  in  through  the 
dark,  narrow  entrance. 

It  was  midnight.  The  beautiful  mountain-locked  basin  on 
which  Acapulco  is  built  was  dimly  visible  under  the  clouded 
moon,  but  I  could  discern  on  one  side  the  white  walls  of  the 
Fort  on  a  rocky  point,  with  the  trees  of  the  Alameda  behind 
it,  and  still  farther  the  lights  of  the  town  glittering  along  the  hill. 
As  we  approached  the  Fort  we  were  hailed,  but  as  a  response 
was  not  immediately  made  the  light  was  suddenly  extinguished 
Borne  one  called  out  "/ztero  /  fuero  .'"  (outside  !)  and  our  boat, 
which  had  been  sent  out  a  second  time,  returned,  stating  that  a 
file  of  soldiers  drawn  up  on  the  beach  had  opposed  any  landing. 
[t  was  followed  by  another,  with  four  oars,  containing  a  messen 
ger  from  the  Governor,  who  announced  to  us,  in  good  English, 
that  we  were  not  allowed  to  come  so  near  the  town,  but  must  lie 
off  in  the  channel ;  the  cholera,  they  had  learned,  was  at  Panama, 
■nd  quarantire  regulations  had  been  established  at  Acapulco 
This  order  was  repeated,  and  the  Panama  then  moved  to  the  other 


36  ELDORADO. 

dde  of  the  harbor  The  boat,  however,  eame  ont  again^ 
bringing  a  declaration  from  the  Governor  that  if  we  did  not 
instantly  fall  back  to  a  certain  channel  between  two  islands,  we 
should  be  fired  upon.  Rather  than  get  into  a  quarrel  with  the 
alarmed  authorities  or  be  subjected  to  delay,  we  got  imder  waj 
again,  and  by  sunrise  were  forty  miles  nearer  San  Bias. 

We  had  on  board  a  choice  gang  of  blacklegs,  among  whom 
were  several  characters  of  notoriety  in  the  United  States,  going 
out  to  extend  the  area  of  their  infernal  profession.  About  a 
dozen  came  on  from  New  Orleans  by  the  Falcon  and  as  many 
from  New  York  by  the  Crescent  City.  They  established  a  branch 
at  Panama,  immediately  on  their  arrival,  and  two  or  three 
remained  to  take  charge  of  it.  They  did  not  commence  very 
fortunately  ;  their  first  capital  of  $500  having  been  won  in  one 
night  by  a  lucky  padre.  Most  of  them,  with  the  devil's  luck, 
drew  prizes  in  the  ticket  lottery,  while  worthy  men  were  left 
behind.  After  leaving  Acapulco,  they  commenced  playing  monte 
on  the  quarter-deck,  and  would  no  doubt  have  entrapped  some 
unwary  passengers,  had  not  the  Captain  put  a  stop  to  their 
operations.  These  characters  have  done  much,  by  their  conduct 
on  the  Isthmus  and  elsewhere,  to  earn  for  us  the  title  id 
"  Northern  barbarians,"  and  especially,  by  wantonly  offending 
the  religious  sentiment  of  the  natives.  I  was  told  of  four  who 
entered  one  of  the  churches  with  their  hats  pulled  fast  over  their 
brows,  and,  marching  deliberately  up  the  aisle,  severally  lighted 
their  cigars  at  the  four  tapers  of  the  altar.  The  class  was  knows 
to  all  on  board  and  generally  shunned. 

There  is  another  class  of  individuals  whom  I  would  recommend 
travelers  to  avoid.  I  saw  several  specimens  on  the  Isthmiu. 
They  are  miserable,  melancholy  men,  ready  to  yield  up  their  last 


THE    MEXICAN    COASt!  3t 

bjeath  at  any  moment.  They  left  home  prematurely,  and  now 
humbly  acknowledge  their  error.  They  were  not  made  for  travel- 
ing, but  they  did  not  know  it  before.  If  you  would  dig  a  hole 
Mid  lay  them  in  it,  leaving  only  their  heads  above  ground,  they 
irould  be  perfectly  contented.  Let  them  alone ;  do  not  evei 
express  your  sympathy.  Then  their  self-pity  will  change  to  in- 
dignation at  your  cold-heartedness,  and  they  wiU  take  care  of 
themselves  for  very  spite. 

Our  track,  now,  was  along  and  near  the  coast — a  succession  of 
lofty  mountain  ranges,  rising  faint  and  blue  through  belts  of 
cloud.  Through  a  glass,  they  appeared  rugged  and  abrupt,  scarred 
with  deep  ravines  and  divided  by  narrow  gorges,  yet  exhibiting, 
nearly  to  their  summits,  a  rich  clothing  of  forests.  The  shore  is 
iron-bound  and  lined  with  breakers,  yet  there  are  many  small  bays 
and  coves  which  afford  shelter  to  fishing  and  coasting  vessels  and 
support  a  scanty  population.  The  higher  peaks  of  the  inland 
chain  are  occasionally  seen  when  the  atmosphere  is  clear.  One 
morning  the  Volcano  of  Colima,  distant  ninety  miles  "  as  the 
bird  flies,"  came  into  sight,  shooting  its  forked  summits  far  above 
the  nearer  ranges.  It  is  in  the  province  of  Jalisco,  near  Lake 
Chapala,  and  is  16,000  feet  in  height — a  greater  than  Mount 
Blanc  !  I  was  delighted  with  Cuba  and  the  Isthmus,  but  forgot 
them  at  once  when  I  viewed  the  grand  outline  of  this  coast,  the 
only  approach  to  which  is  seen  in  the  Maritime  Alps,  on  leaving 
Ghnoa. 

On  the  third  morning  from  Acapulco,  we  saw  the  lofty  group 
of  mountains  bounding  the  roadstead  of  San  Bias  on  tho  East 
The  islands  called  Las  Tres  Marias  were  visible,  ten  miles  dis- 
tant, on  our  left.  They  are  too  small  and  scattering  to  break  the 
Heavy  seas  and  "  southers"  which  come  in  to  tihe  very  end  of  the 


38  ELDORADO 

Inght  on  which  San  Bias  is  built.  Vessels  of  light  draught  m&y 
run  across  a  narrow  bar  between  breakers  and  find  safe  anchor- 
age  in  a  little  inlet  on  the  northern  side,  but  those  which  are 
obliged  to  lie  in  the  open  road  are  exposed  to  considerable  danger 
A  high  white  rock,  of  singular  form,  about  a  quarter  of  a  milo 
from  the  shore,  serves  as  a  landmark  for  vessels.  The  village 
which  is  a  little  larger  than  Chagres,  and  like  it  a  collection  of 
cane  huta  with  a  few  stone  houses,  lies  on  one  side  of  the  inlet 
before  mentioned,  on  flat  swampy  ground,  and  surrounded  by  rank 
forests  and  jungles.  A  mile  behind  it,  on  a  high,  precipitous 
rock,  is  the  Presidio  of  San  Bias,  now  almost  deserted,  aU  busi- 
ness being  transacted  at  the  village  on  shore. 

We  came-to,  a  mile  from  the  place,  and  were  soon  after  visited 
by  the  Alcalde,  who,  after  exchanging  the  ordinary  courtesies  in-% 
formed  us  there  were  plenty  of  provisions  on  shore,  and  departed, 
saying  nothing  of  quarantine.  A  flock  of  cayucas,  paddled  by 
the  natives,  followed  him  and  swarmed  around  us,  ready  to  take 
passengers  at  three  rials  apiece.  Three  or  four  of  us  took  one  of 
these  craft,  and  were  paddled  ashore,  running  on  the  edge  of  the 
breakers  which  roared  and  dashed  along  the  mouth  of  the  inlet. 
We  landed  on  a  beach,  ancle-deep  in  sand  and  covered  with  mus- 
tangs, mules  and  donkeys,  with  a  sprinkling  of  natives.  Our 
passengers  were  busy  all  over  the  village,  lugging  strings  of 
bananas  and  plantains,  buying  cool  water-jars  of  porous  earth, 
gathering  limes  and  oranges  from  the  trees,  or  regaling  themselves 
at  the  fondas  with  fresh  spring-water,  (not  always  unmixed,) 
tortillas  and  fried  pork.  Several  gentlemen  who  had  come  over- 
land from  Vera  Cruz,  awaited  our  arrival,  and  as  the  place  waa 
ViTj  unhealthy  they  were  not  long  in  embarking 

In  company  with  some  friends.  I  set  out  for  the  old  Prosidic 


THK   OLD    PRESIDIO    OF    SAN    BLA8.  39 

on  the  cliff  The  road  led  through  swampy  forests  till  we  reached 
the  foot  of  the  ascent.  A  native  passed  us,  on  a  sharp-trotting 
mule  :  "  Donde  va,  homhre  ?"  "  TSepic,"  was  his  answer.  Up 
we  went,  scrambling  over  loose  stones,  between  banana  thickets 
and  flowering  shrubs,  till  we  gained  a  rocky  spur  near  the  summit 
Here  the  view  to  the  north,  toward  Mazatlan,  was  very  fine 
Across  the  marshy  plain  many  leagues  in  breadth,  bordering  the 
Bea,  we  traced  the  Rio  G-rande  of  the  West  by  the  groves  of  syca- 
more on  its  banks  ;  beyond  it  another  lateral  chain  of  the  Sierra 
Madre  rose  to  the  clouds.  Turning  again,  we  entered  a  deserted 
court-yard,  fronted  by  the  fort,  which  had  a  covered  gallery  on  the 
inside.  The  walls  were  broken  down,  the  deep  wells  in  the  rock 
choked  up  and  the  stone  pOlars  and  gateways  overrun  with  rank 
vines.  From  the  parapet,  the  whole  roadstead  of  San  Bias  lay 
at  our  feet,  and  our  steamer,  two  miles  off,  seemed  to  be  within 
hail. 

This  plaza  opened  on  another  and  larger  one,  completely  covered 
with  taU  weeds,  among  which  the  native  pigs  rooted  and  meditated 
by  turns.  A  fine  old  church,  at  the  farther  end,  was  going  to  ruin, 
Bnd  the  useless  bells  still  hung  in  its  towers.  Some  of  the  houses 
were  inhabited,  and  we  procured  from  the  natives  fresh  water  and 
delicious  bananas.  The  aspect  of  the  whole  place,  picturesque  in 
its  desolation,  impressed  me  more  than  anything  on  the  journey, 
except  the  church  of  San  Felipe,  at  Panama.  The  guns  of  the 
Presidio  were  spiked  by  Commander  Dupont,  during  the  war ; 
&ere  has  been  no  garrison  there  for  many  years. 

"We  descended  again,  made  our  purchases  of  fruit,  and  reached 
3ie  beach  just  as  the  steamer's  gun  signalized  us  to  return.  The 
eayuca  in  which  we  embarked  was  a  round  log,  about  ten  feet  long, 
rolling  over  the  swells  with  a  ticklish  facility.     We  lay  flat  ir 


40  ELDORADO. 

the  bottom,  not  daring  to  stir  hand  or  foot  for  fear  of  losing 
the  exact  balance  which  kept  us  upright,  and  finahy  reached  the 
gangway,  where  we  received  a  sound  cursing  from  one  of  the 
ship's  crew  for  trusting  ourselves  in  such  a  craft  A  doien 
thera,  pulling  for  life,  came  behind  us,  followed  by  a  launch 
bringing  two  live  bullocks  for  our  provender.  A  quarrel  broke 
out  between  one  of  our  new  passengers  and  a  native,  in  which 
blows  were  exchanged.  The  question  was  then  raised  "  whether 
a  nigger  was  as  good  as  a  white  man,"  and  like  the  old  feuds  ol 
the  Bianchi  and  the  Neri  in  Tuscany,  the  contest  raged  fiercelj 
for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

The  morning  mist  rose  from  the  summits  of  the  Sierra  Madre 
of  Durango.  As  we  neared  Mazatlan,  a  light  smoke  was  discerned 
far  on  our  left ;  and  we  had  not  been  long  in  the  harbor  before  the 
California  came  rounding  in,  her  passengers  cheering  us  as  she 
passed  and  dropped  anchor  between  us  and  the  town.  She  looked 
somewhat  weather-beaten,  but  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  our  eyes. 
Conversation  was  kept  up  between  the  two  ships  so  long  as  they 
were  in  hearing,  the  Panama's  passengers  inquiring  anxiously 
about  the  abundance  of  gold,  and  the  Californians  assuring  them 
that  it  was  as  plenty  as  ever. 

Few  ports  present  a  more  picturesque  appearance  from  the  sea 
chan  Mazatlan.  The  harbor,  or  roadstead,  open  on  the  west  to 
the  unbroken  swells  of  the  Pacific^  is  protected  on  the  north  and 
eouth  by  what  were  once  mountain  promontories,  now  split  into 
parallel  chains  of  islands,  separated  by  narrow  channels  of  sea 
Their  sides  are  scarred  with  crags,  terminating  toward  the  sea  in 
precipices  of  dark  red  rock,  with  deep  caverns  at  the  base,  into 
«diich  the  surf  continually  dashes.  On  approaching  the  road 
these  islands  open  one  beyond  the  other,  like  a  sucoession  of  shift 


TOUCHING    AT   MAZATLAIT.  41 

ing  views  tne  last  revealing  the  white  walls  of  Mazatlan,  rising 
gradually  from  the  water,  with  a  beautiful  back-ground  of  dim  blue 
mountains.  The  sky  was  of  a  dazzling  purity,  and  the  whole 
scene  had  that  same  clearness  of  outline  and  enchanting  harmonj 
df  color  which  give  the  landscapes  of  Italy  their  greatest  charm. 
As  we  ran  westward  on  the  Tropic  of  Cancer  across  the  mouth  oi 
the  Gulf,  nothing  could  exceed  the  purity  of  the  atmos]  hero.         i 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   COAST   OF   CALIFORNIA 


"  There  ifi  California !"  was  the  cry  next  morning  at  (nmris« 
"  Where  ?"  "  Off  the  starboard  bow."  I  rose  on  my  bunk  in 
one  of  the  deck  state-rooms,  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  watched 
the  purple  mountains  of  the  Peninsula,  as  they  rose  in  the  fresh, 
inspii'ing  air.  We  were  opposite  its  southern  extremity,  and  I 
scanned  the  brown  and  sterile  coast  with  a  glass,  searching  for 
anything  like  vegetation.  The  whole  country  appeared  to  be  a 
mass  of  nearly  naked  rock,  nourishing  only  a  few  cacti  and  some 
stunted  shrubs.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the  Peninsula  the  valley 
Df  San  Jose  opens  inland  between  two  ranges  of  lofty  granite 
mountains.  Its  beautiful  green  level,  several  miles  in  width 
stretched  back  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The  town  lies  near 
the  sea  ;  it  is  noted  for  the  siege  sustained  by  Lieut.  Haywood  and 
%  small  body  of  American  troops  during  the  war.  Lying  deep 
uuid  the  most  frightfully  barren  and  rugged  mountains  I  ever  saw, 
the  valley  of  San  Jose  which  is  watered  by  a  small  river,  might 
be  made  a  paradise.  The  scenery  around  it  corresponded  strik- 
ingly with  descriptions  of  Syria  and  Palestine.  The  bare,  yellow 
crags  glowed  in  the  sun  with  dazzling  intensity,  and  a  chaia  of 
splintered  peaks  in  the  distance  wore  the  softest  shade  of  violet 


A    TREACHEROUS   COAST.  49 

In  spite  of  the  forbidding  appearance  of  the  coast,  a  more  peculiar 
and  interesting  picture  than  it  gave  can  hardly  be  found  on  the 
Pacific,  Cape  San  Lucas,  which  we  passed  toward  evening,  is  a 
bold  bluff  of  native  granite,  broken  into  isolated  rocks  at  its  points, 
which  present  the  appearance  of  three  distinct  and  perfectly-formed 
pyramids  The  white,  glistening  rock  is  pierced  at  its  base  by 
hollow  caverns  and  arches,  some  of  which  are  fifteen  or  twenty 
feet  high,  giving  glimpses  of  the  ocean  beyond.  The  structure  of 
this  cape  is  very  similar  to  that  of  The  Needles  on  the  Isle  of 
Wight. 

On  the  12th  of  August  we  passed  the  island  of  Santa  Marguenta, 
lying  across  the  mouth  of  a  bay,  the  upper  extremity  of  which  is 
called  Point  San  Lazaro.  Here,  the  outline  of  the  coast,  as  laid 
down  on  the  charts  in  use,  is  very  incorrect.  The  longitude  is 
not  only  placed  too  far  eastward  by  twenty  to  thirty  miles,  but  an 
isolated  mountain,  rising  from  the  sea,  eight  miles  northwest  of 
Point  San  Lazaro,  is  entirely  wanting.  This  mountain — a  summit 
of  barren  rock,  five  miles  in  length  and  about  a  thousand  -feet  in 
bight,  is  connected  with  the  coast  by  a  narrow  belt  of  sand,  form- 
ing a  fine  bay,  twelve  miles  deep,  curving  southward  till  it  strikes 
Point  San  Lazaro.  The  northern  point  of  the  headland  is  bor- 
dered by  breakers,  beyond  which  extends  a  shoal.  Here  the 
current  sets  strongly  in  shore,  and  here  it  was  that  a  whale-ship 
was  lost  a  few  months  since,  her  crew  escaping  to  wander  for  days 
on  an  arid  desert,  without  water  or  vegetation.  The  Panama,  on 
her  downward  trip,  ran  on  the  shoal  and  was  obliged  to  lay-to  all 
night ;  in  the  morning,  instead  of  the  open  sea  promised  by  the 
chart,  the  crags  of  the  unknown  headland  rose  directly  in  front  of 
her.  The  coast,  as  far  as  I  could  see  with  a  good  glass,  presented 
Via  mibrokeii  level  of  g  -»nng  white  sand,  which  must  extend  in- 


44  KLDOSASO. 

land  for  fifty  or  sixty  miles,  since,  under  the  clearest  of  skiea  no 
sign  of  rock  or  distant  peak  was  visible.  The  appearance  of  the 
vrhole  Peninsula,  in  passing — the  alternations  of  bleak  mountain, 
blooming  plain  and  wide  salt  desert — the  rumors  of  vast  mineral 
wealth  in  its  unknown  interior  and  the  general  want  of  intelligence 
in  relation  to  it — conspired  to  excite  in  me  a  strong  wish  to  tra^ 
TOrse  it  from  end  to  end. 

The  same  evening  we  doubled  Cape  San  Lucas,  we  met  the 
ship  Grey  Eagle,  of  Philadelphia,  one  of  the  first  of  the  California 
squadron.  She  was  on  her  way  from  San  Francisco  to  Mazatlan, 
with  two  hundred  passengers  on  board,  chiefly  Mexicans.  Three 
cheers  were  given  and  returned,  as  the  vessels  passed  each  other 
The  temperature  changed,  as  we  left  the  tropics  behind  and  met 
the  north-western  trades  ;  the  cool  winds  drove  many  passengers 
from  the  deck,  and  the  rest  of  us  had  some  chance  for  exercise. 
All  were  in  the  best  spirits,  at  the  prospect  of  soon  reaching  our 
destination,  and  the  slightest  thread  of  incident,  whereto  a  chance 
for  amusement  might  be  himg,  was  eagerly  caught  up.  There 
was  on  board  a  man  of  rather  grave  demeanor,  who,  from  the 
circumstance  of  having  his  felt  hat  cocked  up  like  a  general's, 
wearing  it  square  across  his  brows  and  standing  for  long  whiles 
with  his  arms  folded,  in  a  meditative  attitude,  had  been  generally 
nicknamed  "  Napoleon."  There  was  no  feature  of  his  face  like 
the  great  Corsican's,  but  from  the  tenacity  with  which  he  took  hk 
stand  on  the  mizen-yard  and  folded  his  arms  every  evening,  the 
passengers  supposed  he  really  imagined  a  strong  resemblance. 
One  of  those  days,  in  a  spirit  of  mischief,  they  bought  a  felt  hat 
gave  it  the  same  cocked  shape,  and  bribed  one  of  the  negro  cooke 
to  wear  it  and  take  off  Napoleon.  Accordingly,  as  the  latter  be- 
gan ascending  the  shrouds  to  his  favorite  post,  the  cook  went  np 


HARBOR    OF    BA>    DIEOO.  46 

A^  opposite  side.  Napoleon  sat  down  on  the  yard,  braced  him* 
self  against  the  mast  and  folded  his  arms  ;  the  cook,  sljlj  watch 
bag  his  motions,  imitated  them  with  a  gravity  which  was  irresistible 
All  the  passengers  were  by  this  time  gathered  on  the  quarter 
deck,  shouting  with  laughter :  it  was  singular  how  much  merri 
ment  so  boyish  a  trick  could  occasion.  Napoleon  bore  it  for  a 
time  with  perfect  stolidity,  gazing  on  the  sunset  with  unchanged 
■olemnity  of  visage.  At  last,  getting  tired  of  the  afiair,  he  looked 
down  on  the  crowd  and  said  :  "  you  have  sent  me  a  very  fit 
representative  of  yourselves."  The  laugh  was  stopped  suddenly, 
uid  from  that  time  forth  Napoleon  was  not  disturbed  in  his 
musings. 

The  only  other  point  of  interest  which  we  saw  on  the  Peninsu- 
lar coast,  was  Benito  Island,  off  the  Bay  of  Sebastian  Viscaino, 
go  named,  after  the  valiant  discoverer  of  California.  Two  morn- 
ings after,  I  saw  the  sun  rise  behind  the  mountains  back  of  San 
Diego.  Point  Loma,  at  the  extremity  of  the  bay,  came  in  sight 
on  the  left,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  we  were  at  anchor  before  the 
hide-houses  at  the  landing  place.  The  southern  shore  of  the  bay 
ts  low  and  sandy ;  from  the  bluff  bights  on  the  opposite  side  a 
narrow  strip  of  shingly  beach  makes  out  into  the  sea,  like  a  na- 
tural breakwater,  leaving  an  entrance  not  more  than  three  hundred 
yards  broad.  The  harbor  is  the  finest  on  the  Pacific,  with  the 
exception  of  Acapulco,  and  capable  of  easy  and  complete  de- 
fense. The  old  hide-houses  are  buUt  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  just 
inside  the  bay,  and  a  fine  road  along  the  shore  leads  to  the  town 
<^  San  Diego,  which  is  situated  on  a  plain,  three  miles  distant 
and  barely  visible  from  the  anchorage.  Above  the  houses,  on  a 
Kttle  eminence,  several  tents  were  planted,  and  a  short  distance 
farther  were  several  recent  graves,  surrounded  by  paling      A 


46 


ei-D6RAno. 


number  of  people  were  clustoied  on  the  beach,  and  beats  ladei 
with  passengers  and  freight,  instantly  put  off  to  us.  In  a  few 
minutes  after  our  gun  was  fired,  we  could  see  horsemen  coming 
down  from  San  Diego  at  full  gaUop,  one  of  whom  carried  behind 
him  a  lady  in  graceful  riding  costume.  In  the  first  boa*  were 
Colonel  Weller,  U.  S.  Boundary  Commissioner,  and  Major  HiU 
of  the  Army.  Then  followed  a  number  of  men,  lank  and  brown 
"  as  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand" — men  with  long  hair  and  beards,  and 
faces  from  which  the  ri^d  expression  of  suffering  was  scarcely 
relaxed.  They  were  the  first  of  the  overland  emigrants  by  the 
Gila  route,  who  had  reached  San  Diego  a  few  days  before.  Their 
clothes  were  in  tatters,  their  boots,  in  many  cases,  replaced  by 
moccasins,  and,  except  their  rifles  and  some  small  packages  rolled 
in  deerskin,  they  had  nothing  left  of  the  abundant  stores  with 
which  they  left  home. 

We  hove  anchor  in  half  an  hour,  and  again  rounded  Point 
Loma,  our  number  increased  by  more  than  fifty  passengers.  The 
Point,  which  comes  down  to  the  sea  at  an  angle  of  60 "  has  been 
lately  purchased  by  an  American,  for  what  purpose  I  cannot  im- 
agine, unless  it  is  with  the  hope  of  speculating  on  Government 
when  it  shall  be  wanted  for  a  light-house.  In  the  afternoon  we 
passed  the  island  of  Santa  Catalina,  which  is  about  twelve  miles 
in  length,  rising  to  a  height  of  3,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  in- 
habited by  herds  of  wild  goats.  Santa  Cruz  and  Santa  Rosa, 
which  lie  opposite  Santa  Barbara  and  separated  from  it  by  the 
channel  of  the  same  name,  were  left  behind  us  in  the  night,  and 
the  next  day  we  were  off  Cape  Conception,  the  Cape  Horn  of  Cali- 
fornia. True  to  its  character,  we  bad  a  cold,  dense  fog,  and 
violent  head-winds  ;  the  coast  was  shrouded  from  sight. 

The  emi(i;rants  we  took  on  board  at  San  Diego  were  objects  of 


KARRAtirES    Of     EMIGRATION  47 

general  interest.  The  stories  of  their  adventures  by  the  waj 
Bounded  more  marvellous  than  anything  I  had  heard  or  read 
rinoe  my  boyish  acquaintance  with  Robinson  Cnisoe,  Captain 
Cook  and  John  Ledyard.  Taking  them  as  the  average  ex- 
perience of  the  thirty  thousand  emigrants  who  last  year  crossed 
ihe  Plains,  this  California  Crusade  will  more  than  equal  the  greaf 
mOitary  expeditions  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  magnitude,  peril  and 
adventure.  The  amount  of  suffering  which  must  have  been 
endured  in  the  savage  mountain  passes  and  herbless  deserts  of  the 
interior,  cannot  be  told  in  words.  Some  had  come  by  way  of 
Santa  Fe  and  along  the  savage  hills  of  the  Gila ;  some,  starting 
from  Red  River,  had  crossed  the  Great  Stake  Desert  and  taken 
the  road  from  Paso  del  Norte  to  Tueson  in  Sonora ;  some  had 
passed  through  Mexico  and  after  spending  one  hundred  and  four 
days  at  sea,  run  into  San  Diego  and  given  nip  their  vessel ;  some 
had  landed,  weary  with  a  seven  months'  psssage  around  Cape 
Horn,  and  some,  finally,  had  reached  the  place  on  foot,  after 
walking  the  whole  length  of  the  Californian  Peninsula. 

The  emigrants  by  the  Gila  route  gave  a  terrible  account  of  the 
crossing  of  the  Great  Desert,  lying  west  of  the  Colorado.  They 
described  this  region  as  scorching  and  sterile — a  country  of 
burning  salt  plains  and  shifting  hills  of  sand,  whose  only  signs  of 
human  visitation  are  the  bones  of  animals  and  men  scattered 
along  the  trails  that  cross  it.  The  corpses  of  several  emigrants, 
out  of  companies  who  passed  before  them,  lay  half-buried  in  sand, 
Uld  the  hot  air  was  made  stifling  by  the  effluvia  that  rose  from  the 
dry  carcases  of  hundreds  of  mules.  There,  if  a  man  faltered, 
he  was  gone  ;  no  one  could  stop  to  lend  him  a  hand  without  a 
likelihood  of  sharing  his  fate.  It  seemed  like  a  wondeifol  Provi- 
dence to  these  emigrants,  when  thev  came  suddenly  upon  a  large 


48  feLboRAiJd. 

and  swift  stream  of  fresh  water  in  the  midst  of  the  Desert,  whore, 
a  year  previous,  there  had  been  nothing  but  sterile  sand.  Thie 
phenomenon  was  at  first  ascribed  to  the  melting  of  snow  on  the 
mountains,  but  later  emigrants  traced  the  river  to  its  source  in  a 
Uke  about  half  a  mile  in  length,  which  had  bubbled  up  spontane 
.usly  from  the  fiery  bosom  of  the  Desert 

One  of  the  emigrants  by  the  Sonora  route  told  me  a  story  o* 
A  sick  man  who  rode  behind  his  party  day  after  day,  unable  to 
keep  pace  with  it,  yet  always  arriving  in  camp  a  few  hours  later. 
This  lasted  so  long  that  finally  little  attention  was  paid  to  hun  and 
his  absence  one  night  excited  no  apprehension.  Three  days 
passed  and  he  did  not  arrive.  On  the  fourth,  a  negro,  traveling 
alone  and  on  foot,  came  into  camp  and  told  them  that  many  miles 
behind  a  man  lying  beside  the  road  had  begged  a  little  water  from 
him  and  asked  him  to  hurry  on  and  bring  assistance.  The  next 
morning  a  company  of  Mexicans  came  up  and  brought  word  that 
the  man  was  dying.  The  humane  negro  retraced  his  steps  forty 
mUes,  and  arrived  just  as  the  sufferer  breathed  his  last.  He 
lifted  him  in  his  arms;  in  the  vain  efibrt  to  speak,  the  man 
expired.  The  mule,  tied  to  a  cactus  by  his  side,  was  already  dead 
of  hunger. 

I  was  most  profoundly  interested  in  the  narrative  of  a  Phila- 
delphian,  who,  after  crossing  Mexico  from  Tampieo  to  San 
Plas,  embarked  for  San  Francisco,  and  was  put  ashore  by  his 
own  request,  at  Cape  San  Lucas.  He  had  three  or  four  com- 
panions, the  party  supposing  they  might  make  the  journey  to  San 
Diego  in  thirty  or  forty  days,  by  following  the  coast.  It  was  soon 
found,  however,  that  the  only  supply  of  water  was  among  the 
mountains  of  the  interior,  and  they  were  obliged  to  proceed  era 
foot  to  the  yaUey  of  San  Jose  and  follow  the  trail  to  La  Paz,  on 


OEN.    TILLAMIL    ANB    HIS   COLOITT  49 

the  Galifornian  Gulf.  Thence  they  wandered  in  a  nearly  oppoeita 
direction  to  Todos  Santos  Bay,  on  the  Pacific,  where  they  ex- 
changed some  of  their  arms  for  horses  The  route  led  in  a  zig- 
zag direction  across  the  mountain  chain,  from  one  watering-place  to 
another,  \nthfre(i\ientjarnadas  (journeys  without  water,)  of  thirty, 
forty  and  even  sixty  miles  in  length.  Its  rigors  were  increased 
by  the  frightful  desolation  of  the  country,  and  the  deep  gullies  oi 
arroyos  with  which  it  is  seamed.  In  the  beds  of  these  they  would 
often  lose  the  trail,  occasioning  them  many  hours'  search  to 
recover  it.  The  fruit  of  the  cactus  and  the  leaves  of  succulent 
plants  formed  their  principal  sustenance.  After  a  month  of  this 
travel  they  reached  San  Ignacio,  half-way  to  San  Diego,  where 
their  horses  failed  them  ;  the  remainder  of  the  journey  was  per- 
formed on  foot.  The  length  of  the  Peninsula  is  about  eight 
hundred  miles,  but  the  distance  traveled  by  these  hardy  adven- 
turers amounted  to  more  than  fifteen  hundred. 

Among  the  passengers  who  came  on  board  at  San  Diego,  was 
Gen.  Villamil,  of  the  Republic  of  Ecuador,  who  was  aid  to  Bolivar 
during  the  war  of  South-American  independence.  After  the  se- 
cession of  Ecuador  from  Columbia,  he  obtained  from  Gen.  Flores 
a  grant  of  one  of  the  Galapagos  Islands — a  group  well  known  to 
whalers,  lying  on  the  equator,  six  hundred  miles  west  of  Guayaquil. 
On  this  island,  which  he  named  Floriana,  he  has  lived  for  the  pas^ 
sixteen  years.  His  colony  contains  a  hundred  and  fifty  souls,  who 
rai«e  on  the  light,  new  soil,  abundant  crops  of  grain  and  vegetables. 
The  island  is  fifteen  miles  in  length,  by  twelve  in  breadth,  lying  in 
Ut.  1°  30'  S.  and  its  highest  part  is  about  5,000  feet  above  the  levei 
of  the  sea.  x  iie  soil  is  but  from  twelve  to  eighteen  inches  deep, 
yet  such  is  the  profusion  of  vegetable  growth,  that,  as  Gen.  Villa 
mil  informed  mo,  its  depth  has  in  many  places  increased  six  inche* 

VOL.    I.  3 


50  ELDORADO. 

»inc«  h(5  first  landed  there.  The  supply  of  water  is  obtained  in  « 
very  singular  manner.  A  large  porous  rock,  on  the  side  of  one  oJ 
the  moantains,  seems  to  serve  as  an  outlet  or  filter  for  some  sob 
terranean  vein,  since  on  its  base,  which  is  constantly  humid,  iht 
drops  collect  and  fall  in  sufficient  abundance  to  supply  a  larg« 
asin  in  the  rock  below.  Pipes  from  this  deposit  convey  the  watei 
to  the  valley.  Its  quality  is  cool,  sweet  and  limpid,  and  the  rock} 
sponge  from  which  it  drips  never  fails  in  its  snpply. 

We  were  within  sight  of  the  Coast  Range  of  California  all  day, 
after  passing  Cape  Conception.  Their  sides  are  spotted  with 
timber,  which  in  the  narrow  valleys  sloping  down  to  the  sea  ap- 
peared to  be  of  large  growth.  From  their  unvarying  yellow  hue. 
we  took  them  to  be  mountains  of  sand,  but  they  were  in  reality 
covered  with  natural  harvests  of  wild  oats,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
on  traveling  into  the  interior.  A  keen,  bracing  wind  at  night 
kept  down  the  fog,  and  although  the  thermometer  fell  to  52°, 
causing  a  general  shiver  on  board,  I  walked  the  deck  a  long  time; 
noting  the  extraordinary  brilliancy  of  the  stars  in  the  pure  air. 
The  mood  of  our  passengers  changed  very  visibly  as  we  approached 
the  close  of  the  voyage ;  their  exhilarant  anticipations  left  them, 
and  were  succeeded  by  a  reaction  of  feeling  that  almost  amounted 
to  despondency.  The  return  to  laborious  life  after  a  short  ex- 
emption from  its  cares,  as  in  the  case  of  travel,  is  always  attended 
with  some  such  feeling,  but  among  the  California  emigrants  it  wai 
intensified  by  the  uncertainty  of  their  venture  in  a  region  where  all 
Ihe  ordinary  rales  of  trade  and  enterprise  would  be  at  fault. 

Wher  I  went  on  deck  in  the  clear  dawn,  while  yet 

"  The  maiden  splendors  of  the  moming-ilir 
fibook  in  the  steadfast  blae^" 


THE  LAST  PAT  OF  THB  VOTAOK.  51 

we  were  rounding  Point  Pinos  into  the  harbor  of  Monterey  As 
ire  drew  near,  the  white,  scattered  dwellings  of  the  town,  sit  dated 
on  a  gentle  slope,  behind  which  extended  on  all  sides  the  celebrated 
Pine  Forest,  became  visible  in  the  grey  light.  A  handsome  fort, 
on  an  eminence  near  the  sea,  returned  our  salute.  Four  vessels, 
ribattered,  weather-beaten  and  apparently  deserted,  lay  at  anchor 
not  far  from  shore.  The  town  is  larger  than  I  expected  to  find 
it,  and  from  the  water  has  the  air  of  a  large  New-England  village, 
barring  the  adobe  houses.  Major  Lee  and  Lieut.  Beale,  who  went 
ashore  in  the  steamer's  boat,  found  Gen.  Riley,  the  Civil  Governor, 
very  ill  with  a  fever.  As  we  were  preparing  to  leave,  the  sun  rose 
over  the  moimtains,  covering  the  air  with  gold  brighter  than  ever 
was  scratched  up  on  the  Sacramento.  The  picturesque  houses  d 
Monterey,  the  pine  woods  behind  and  the  hills  above  them,  glowed 
like  an  illuminated  painting,  till  a  fog-curtain  which  met  us  at  the 
mouth  of  the  harbor  dropped  down  upon  the  water  and  hid  them 
all  &om  sight. 


At  last  the  voyage  is  drawing  to  a  close.  Fifty-one  days  have 
elapsed  since  leaving  New  York,  in  which  time  we  have,  in  a 
manner,  coasted  both  sides  of  the  North-American  Continent, 
from  the  parallel  of  40°  N.  to  its  termination,  within  a  few  degrees 
of  tne  Equator,  over  seas  once  ploughed  by  the  keels  of  Columbus 
aTid  Balboa,  of  Grijalva  and  Sebastian  Viscaino.  All  is  excite- 
meat  on  board  ;  the  Captain  has  just  taken  his  noon  observation 
Wq  are  running  along  the  shore,  within  six  or  eight  miles'  distance , 
the  hills  are  bare  and  sandy,  but  loom  up  finely  through  the  deep 
blue  haze  A  brig  bound  to  San  Francisco,  but  Mien  off  to  the 
leeward  of  the  harbor,  is  making  a  new  tack  on  our  left,  to  come 


fiS  ELDORADO. 

op  again.     The  coast  trends  somewhat  more  to  the  westward 
,   and  a  notch  or  gap  is  at  last  visible  in  its  lofty  outline. 

An  hour  later  ;  we  are  in  front  of  the  entrance  to  San  Francisco 
Bay.  The  mountains  on  the  northern  side  are  3,000  feet  in  hight, 
and  come  boldly  down  to  the  sea.  As  the  view  opens  through  the 
splendid  strait,  three  or  four  miles  in  width,  the  island  rock  oi 
Alcatraz  appears,  gleaming  white  m  the  distance.  An  inward- 
bound  ship  follows  close  on  our  wake,  urged  on  by  wind  and  tide 
There  is  a  small  fort  perched  among  the  trees  on  our  right,  where 
tiie  strait  is  narrowest,  and  a  glance  at  the  formation  of  the  hills 
shows  that  this  pass  might  be  made  impregnable  as  Gibraltar. 
The  town  is  still  concealed  behind  the  promontory  around  which 
the  Bay  turns  to  the  southward,  but  between  Alcatraz  and  the 
island  of  Yerba  Buena,  now  coming  into  sight,  I  can  see  vessels  at 
anchor.  High  through  the  vapor  in  front,  and  thirty  miles  dis- 
tant, rises  the  peak  of  Monte  Diablo,  which  overlooks  everything 
between  the  Sierra  Nevada  and  the  Ocean.  On  our  left  opens 
the  bight  of  Sousolito,  where  the  U.  S.  propeller  Massachusetts  and 
several  other  vessels  are  at  anchor. 

At  last  we  are  through  the  Grolden  Gate — fit  name  for  such  r 
magnificent  portal  to  the  commerce  of  the  Pacific  !  Yerba  Buena 
Island  is  in  front ;  southward  and  westward  opens  the  renowned 
harbor,  crowded  with  the  shipping  of  the  world,  mast  behind  mast 
and  vessel  behind  vessel,  the  flags  of  all  nations  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  !  Aroimd  the  curving  shore  of  the  Bay  and  upon  the 
ndes  of  three  hills  which  rise  steeply  from  the  water,  the  middle 
«ne  receding  so  as  to  form  a  bold  amphitheatre,  the  town  is  planted 
and  seems  scarcely  yet  to  have  taken  root,  for  tents,  canvas,  plank, 
mud  and  adobe  houses  are  mingled  together  with  the  least  appareni 


tHE    A^fCHOR    DROPS.  53 

attempt  at  order  and  durability.  But  I  am  not  yet  on  shore.  The 
gun  of  the  Panama  has  just  announced  our  arrival  to  the  people 
on  land.  We  glide  on  with  the  tide,  past  the  U.  S.  ship  Ohio 
and  opposite  the  main  landing,  outside  of  the  forest  of  masts.  A 
iozen  boats  are  creeping  out  to  us  over  the  water  ;  the  signal  i!« 
jiven — ^the  anchor  drops — our  voyage  is  ovei 


CHAPTER  YI. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS   OF    SAN    FRANCISCO. 

1  LEFT  the  Panama,  in  company  with  Lieut.  Beale,  in  the  boat 
){ the  U.  S.  ship  Ohio,  which  brought  Lieutenant  Ells  on  board. 
We  first  boarded  the  noble  ship,  which,  even  in  San  Francisco  har- 
bor, showed  the  same  admirable  order  as  on  our  own  coast.  She 
had  returned  from  Honolulu  a  few  days  previous,  after  an  absence 
of  three  months  from  California.  The  morning  of  our  arrival, 
eighteen  of  her  men  had  contrived  to  escape,  carrying  with  them 
one  of  the  boats,  under  fire  from  all  the  Government  vessels  in 
the  harbor.  The  officers  were  eager  for  news  from  home,  having 
been  two  months  without  a  mail,  and  I  was  glad  that  my  habit  of 
carrying  newspapers  in  my  pockets  enabled  me  to  furnish  them 
with  a  substantial  gratification.  The  Ohio's  boat  put  us  ashore 
at  the  northern  point  of  the  anchorage,  at  the  foot  of  a  steep 
bank,  from  which  a  high  pier  had  been  built  into  the  bay.  A 
large  vessel  lay  at  the  end,  discharging  her  cargo.  We  scrambled 
ap  through  piles  of  luggage,  and  among  the  crowd  collected  to 
witness  our  arrival,  picked  out  two  Mexicans  to  carry  our  trunks  to 
a  hotel.  The  barren  side  of  *he  hUl  before  us  was  covered  with 
tents  and  canvas  houses,  and  nearly  in  front  a  large  two-story 
building  displayed  the  sign  :  "  Fremont  Family  Hotel." 


APPEASAKCE   OF    THE    TOWK.  55 

As  jet.  yre  were  only  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town.  Crossiiig 
the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  the  view  extended  around  the  curve 
of  the  bay,  and  hundreds  of  tents  and  houses  appeared,  scattered 
all  over  the  heights,  and  along  the  shore  for  more  than  a  mile.  A 
furious  wind  was  blowing  down  through  a  gap  in  the  hills,  filling 
the  streets  with  clouds  of  dust.  On  every  side  stood  buildings  of 
all  kinds,  begun  or  half-finished,  and  the  greater  part  of  them 
mere  canvas  sheds,  open  in  front,  and  covered  with  all  kinds  of 
signs,  in  all  languages.  Great  quantities  of  goods  were  piled  up 
in  the  open  air,  for  want  of  a  place  to  store  them.  The  streets 
were  full  of  people,  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  of  as  diverse  and 
bizarre  a  character  as  the  houses  :  Yankees  of  every  possible  va- 
riety, native  Californians  in  sarapes  and  sombreros,  Chilians,  So- 
norians,  Kanakas  from  Hawaii,  Chinese  with  long  tails,  Malays 
armed  with  their  everlasting  creeses,  and  others  in  whose  em- 
browned and  bearded  visages  it  was  impossible  to  recognize  any 
especial  nationality.  We  came  at  last  into  the  plaza,  now  digni- 
fied by  the  name  of  Portsmouth  Square.  It  lies  on  the  slant  side 
of  the  hill,  and  from  a  high  pole  in  front  of  a  long  one-story  adobe 
building  used  as  the  Custom  House,  the  American  flag  was  flying. 
On  the  lower  side  stood  the  Parker  House — an  ordinary  frame 
house  of  about  sixty  feet  front — and  towards  its  entrance  we 
directed  our  course. 

Our  luggage  was  deposited  on  one  of  the  rear  porticos,  and  we 
discharged  the  porters,  after  paying  them  two  dollars  each — a 
sum  so  immense  in  comparison  to  the  service  rendered  tnac  there 
was  no  longer  any  doubt  of  our  having  actually  landed  in  Cali« 
fornia.  There  were  no  lodgings  to  be  had  at  the  Parker  House--- 
not  even  a  place  to  unroU  our  blankets ;  but  one  of  the  proprietors 
accompanied  us  across  the  plaza  to  the  City  Hotel,  where  we  ob« 


56  SLDORADO. 

tained  a  room  with  two  beds  at  f  25  per  week,  meals  being  in  ad 
dition  $20  per  week.  I  asked  the  landlord  whether  he  could  send 
*  porter  for  our  trunks.  "  There  is  none  belonging  to  the  house." 
said  he  ;  "  every  man  is  his  own  porter  here."  I  returned  to  the 
Parker  House,  shouldered  a  heavy  trunk,  took  a  valise  in  my  hand 
and  carried  them  to  my  quarters,  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  Our 
room  was  in  a  sort  of  garret  over  the  only  story  of  the  hotel ;  two 
cots,  evidently  of  California  manufacture,  and  covered  only  with 
a  pair  of  blankets,  two  chairs,  a  rough  table  and  a  small  looking- 
glass,  constituted  the  furniture.  There  was  not  space  enough 
between  the  bed  and  the  bare  rafters  overhead,  to  sit  upright,  and 
I  gave  myself  a  severe  blow  in  rising  the  next  morning  without 
the  proper  heed.  Through  a  small  roof-window  of  dim  glass,  I 
could  see  the  opposite  shore  of  the  bay,  then  partly  hidden  by  the 
evening  fogs.  The  wind  whistled  around  the  eaves  and  rattled 
the  tiles  with  a  cold,  gusty  sound,  that  would  have  imparted  a 
dreary  character  to  the  place,  had  I  been  in  a  mood  to  listen. 

Many  of  the  passengers  began  speculation  at  the  moment  of 
landing.  The  most  ingenious  and  successful  operation  was  made 
by  a  gentleman  of  New  York,  who  took  out  fifteen  hundred  copies 
of  The  Tribune  and  other  papers,  which  he  disposed  of  in  two 
hours,  at  one  dollar  a-piece  !  Hearing  of  this  I  bethought  me  of 
about  a  dozen  papers  which  I  had  used  to  fill  up  crevices  in  pack- 
ing my  valise.  There  was  a  newspaper  merchant  at  the  corner 
of  the  City  Hotel,  and  to  him  I  proposed  the  sale  of  them,  asking 
him  to  name  a  price.  "  I  shall  want  to  make  a  good  profit  on  the 
rctiil  price,"  said  he,  "  and  can't  give  more  than  ten  dollars  for 
the  lot."  I  was  satisfied  with  the  wholesale  price,  which  was  a 
gain  of  just  four  thousand  per  cent ! 

I  set  out  for  a  walk  before  dark  and  climbed  a  hill  back  of 


THE  new-comer's  bewildermext.  57 

the  town,  paissing  a  number  of  tents  pitched  ji  the  hollows 
The  scattered  houses  spread  out  below  me  and  the  crowded 
shipping  in  the  harbor,  backed  by  a  lofty  line  of  mountains,  made 
an  imposing  picture.  The  restless,  feverish  tide  of  life  in  that 
little  spot,  and  the  thought  that  what  I  then  saw  and  was  yet  to 
see  will  hereafter  fill  one  of  the  most  marvellous  pages  of  all 
history,  rendered  it  singularly  impressive.  The  feeling  was  not 
decreased  on  talking  that  evening  with  some  of  the  old  residents, 
(that  is,  of  six  months'  standing,)  and  hearing  their  several 
experiences.  Every  new-comer  in  San  Francisco  is  overtaken 
with  a  sense  of  complete  bewilderment.  The  mind,  however  it 
nay  be  prepared  for  an  astonishing  condition  of  afiairs,  cannot 
immediately  push  aside  its  old  instincts  of  value  and  ideas  of 
business,  letting  all  past  experiences  go  for  naught  and  casting 
all  its  faculties  for  action,  intercourse  with  its  fellows  or  advance- 
ment in  any  path  of  ambition,  into  shapes  which  it  never  before 
imagined.  As  in  the  turn  of  the  dissolving  views,  there  is  a 
period  when  it  wears  neither  the  old  nor  the  new  phase,  but  the 
vanishing  images  of  the  one  and  the  growing  perceptions  of  the 
other  are  blended  in  painful  and  misty  confusion.  One  knows  not 
whether  he  is  awake  or  in  some  wonderful  dream.  Never  have  I 
had  so  much  diflBcult^  in  establishing,  satisfactorily  to  my  own 
senses,  the  reality  of  what  I  saw  and  heard. 

I  was  forced  to  believe  many  things,  which  in  my  communica- 
tions to  The  Tribune  I  was  almost  afraid  to  write,  with  any  hope 
of  thjir  obtaining  credence.  It  may  be  interesting  to  give  her*^  $ 
few  instances  of  the  enormous  and  unnatural  value  put  upon 
property  at  the  time  of  my  arrival.  The  Parker  House  rented 
for  $110,000  yearly,  at  least  $60,000  of  which  was  paid'bj 
gamblers,  who  held  nearly  all  the  second  story.     Adjoining  it  on 


86  ELDORADO. 

the  right  was  a  canvas-tent  fifteen  by  twenty-five  feet,  oaSed  *'  El 
dorado ,"  and  occupied  likewise  by  gamblers,  which  brought  $40,000 
On  the  opposite  corner  of  the  plaza,  a  building  called  the  "  Miner's 
Bank,"  used  by  Wright  &  Co.,  brokers,  about  half  the  size  of  a 
fire-engine  house  in  New  York,  was  held  at  a  rent  of  $75,000. 
A  mercantile  house  paid  $40,000  rent  for  a  one-story  building  of 
twenty  feet  front ;  the  United  States  Hotel,  $36,000  ;  the  Post- 
Office,  $7,000,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  A  friend  ol 
mine,  who  wished  to  find  a  place  for  a  law-office,  was  shown  a 
cellar  in  the  earth,  about  twelve  feet  square  and  six  deep,  which 
he  could  have  at  $250  a  month.  One  of  the  common  soldiers  at 
the  battle  of  San  Pasquale  was  reputed  to  be  among  the  mil- 
lionaires of  the  place,  with  an  income  of  $50,000  monthly.  A 
citizen  of  San  Francisco  died  insolvent  to  the  amount  of  $41,000 
the  previous  Autumn.  His  administrators  were  delayed  in 
iiettling  his  affairs,  and  his  real  estate  advanced  so  rapidly  in  value 
;neantime,  that  after  his  debts  were  paid  his  heirs  had  a  yearly 
income  of  $40,000.  These  facts  were  indubitably  attested ; 
every  one  believed  them,  yet  hearing  them  talked  of  daily,  ae 
matters  of  coui-se,  one  at  first  could  not  help  feeling  as  if  he  had 
been  eating  of  "  the  insane  root." 

The  prices  paid  for  labor  were  in  proportion  to  everything  else. 
The  carman  of  Melius,  Howard  &  Co.  had  a  salary  of  $6,000  a 
/car,  and  many  others  made  from  $]5  to  $20  daily.  Servants 
were  paid  from  $100  to  $200  a  month,  but  the  wages  of  th 
rougher  kinds  of  labor  had  fallen  to  about  $8.  Yet,  notwith- 
standing the  number  of  gold-seekers  who  were  returning  enfeebled 
and  disheartened  from  the  mines,  it  was  difficult  to  obtain  as  many 
workmen  as  the  forced  growth  of  the  city  demanded.  A  gentle- 
man who  arrived  in  ^prO  told  me  he  then  found  but  thirty  oi 


INDIFFERENT    SHOPKEEPERS.  08 

forty  houses  ,  the  population  was  then  so  scant  that  not  more  iihas 

twenty-five  persons  would  be  seen  in  the  streets  at  anyone  tiine. 
Now,  there  were  probably  five  hundred  houses,  tents  and  sheds, 
with  a  population,  fixed  and  floating,  of  six  thousand.  People 
who  had  been  abaent  six  weeks  came  back  and  could  scarcely 
recognize  the  place.  Streets  were  regularly  laid  out,  and  already 
there  were  three  piers,  at  which  smaU  vessels  could  discharge. 
It  was  calculated  that  the  town  increased  daily  by  from  fifteen  to 
thu'ty  houses  ;  its  skirts  were  rapidly  approaching  the  summits  of 
the  three  hills  on  which  it  is  located. 

A  curious  result  of  the  extraordinary  abundance  of  gold  and 
the  facility  with  which  fortunes  were  acquired,  struck  me  at  the 
first  glance.  All  business  was  transacted  on  so  extensive  a  scale 
that  the  ordinary  habits  of  solicitation  and  compliance  on  the  one 
hand  and  stubborn  cheapening  on  the  other,  seemed  to  be  entirely 
forgotten.  You  enter  a  shop  to  buy  something ;  the  owner  eyes 
you  with  perfect  indiSerence,  waiting  for  you  to  state  your  want ; 
if  you  object  to  the  price,  you  are  at  liberty  to  leave,  for  you  need 
not  expect  to  get  it  cheaper ;  he  evidently  cares  little  whether  you 
buy  it  or  not.  One  who  has  been  some  time  in  the  country  will 
lay  down  the  money,  without  wasting  words.  The  only  exception 
I  found  to  this  rule  was  that  of  a  sharp-faced  Down-Easter  just 
opening  his  stock,  who  was  much  distressed  when  his  clerk 
charged  me  seventy-five  cents  for  a  coU  of  rope,  instead  of  one 
dollar.  This  disregard  for  all  the  petty  arts  of  money-making 
wag  really  a  refreshing  feature  of  society.  Another  equally 
•greeable  trait  was  the  punctuality  with  which  debts  were  paid 
and  the  general  confidence  which  men  were  obliged  to  place, 
perforce,  in  eacL  other's  honesty.  Perhaps  this  latter  fact  was 
•wing,  in  part,   to   the  impossibility  of  protecting   wealth,  and 


do  fcj.uuRAbd 

consequent  dependence  on  an  honorable  regard  for  tie  rights  (A 
others. 

About  the  hour  of  twilight  the  wind  fell ;  the  sound  of  a  g(  ng 
called  us  to  tea,  which  was  served  in  the  largest  room  of  the  hotel 
The  fare  was  abundant  and  of  much  better  quality  than  we  ex 
pectcd — better,  in  fact,  than  I  was  able  to  find  there  two  monthf 
later.  The  fresh  milk,  butter  and  excellent  beef  of  the  countrj 
were  real  luxuries  after  our  sea-fare.  Thus  braced  against  the 
fog  and  raw  temperature,  we  sallied  out  for  a  night- view  of  San 
Francisco,  then  even  more  peculiar  than  its  daylight  look.  Busi- 
ness was  over  about  the  usual  hour,  and  then  the  harvest-time  of 
the  gamblers  commenced.  Every  "  hell"  in  the  place,  and  I  did 
not  pretend  to  number  them,  was  crowded,  and  immense  sums 
were  staked  at  the  monte  and  faro  tables.  A  boy  of  fifteen,  in 
one  place,  won  about  $500,  which  he  coolly  pocketed  and  carried 
oflF.  One  of  the  gang  we  brought  in  the  Panama  won  $1,500  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  and  another  lost  $2,400.  A  fortu- 
nate miner  made  himself  conspicuous  by  betting  large  piles  of 
ounces  on  a  single  throw.  His  last  stake  of  100  oz.  was  lost,  and 
I  saw  him  the  following  morning  dashing  through  the  streets,  try- 
ing to  break  his  own  neck  or  that  of  the  magnificent  garahon  he 
bestrode. 

Walking  through  the  town  the  next  day,  I  was  quite  amazed  to 
find  a  dozen  persons  busUy  employed  in  the  street  before  thd 
United  States  Hotel,  digging  up  the  earth  with  knives  and  crumb- 
ling it  in  their  hands.  They  were  actual  gold-hunters,  who  ob- 
tained in  this  way  about  $5  a  day.  After  blowing  the  fine  dirt 
carefully  in  their  hands,  a  few  specks  of  gold  were  left,  which 
they  placed  in  a  piece  of  white  paper.  A  number  of  children 
wort  engaged  in  the  same  bxisinoss,  picking  out  the  finf  grains  b^ 


STREET    GOLD PEOP..E    IN    TOWN.  61 

applying  to  them  the  head  of  a  pin,  moistened  in  their  mouths 
I  was  told  of  a  small  boy  having  taken  home  $  1 4  as  the  result  of 
one  day's  labor.  On  climbing  the  hill  to  the  Post  Office  I  ob- 
perved  in  places,  where  the  wind  had  swept  away  the  sand,  severa. 
gl'ttering  dots  of  the  real  metal,  but,  like  the  Irishman  who  kicked 
the  dollar  out  of  his  way,  concluded  to  wait  till  I  should  reach  the 
heap.  The  presence  of  gold  in  the  streets  was  probably  occa- 
Bioned  by  the  leakings  from  the  miners'  bags  and  the  sweepings 
of  stores ;  though  it  may  also  be,  to  a  slight  extent,  native  in  the 
earth,  particles  having  been  found  in  the  clay  thrown  up  from  a 
deep  well. 

The  arrival  of  a  steamer  with  a  mail  ran  the  usual  excitement 
and  activity  of  the  town  up  to  its  highest  possible  notch.  The 
little  Post  Office,  half-way  up  the  hUl,  was  almost  hidden  froijj 
sight  by  the  crowds  that  clustered  around  it.  Mr.  Moore,  the  new 
Postmaster,  who  was  my  fellow-traveler  from  New  York,  barred 
every  door  and  window  from  the  moment  of  his  entrance,  and 
with  his  sons  and  a  few  clerks,  worked  steadily  for  two  days  and 
two  nights,  till  the  distribution  of  twenty  thousand  letters  was 
completed.  Among  the  many  persons  I  met,  the  day  after  land- 
ing, was  Mr.  T.  Butler  King,  who  had  just  returned  from  an 
expedition  to  the  placers,  in  company  witb  General  Smith.  Mr 
Edwin  Bryant,  of  Kentucky,  and  Mr.  Durivage,  of  New  Orleans, 
had  arrived  a  few  days  previous,  the  former  by  way  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake,  and  the  latter  by  the  northern  provinces  of  Mexico 
and  the  Gila.  I  found  the  artist  Osgood  in  a  studio  about  eight 
feet  square,  with  a  head  of  Captain  Sutter  on  his  easel.  He  had 
given  up  gold-digging,  after  three  months  of  successful  labor 
among  the  mountains. 

I  could  make  no  thorough  acquaintance  with  San  Franciscc 


AS  ELDORADO. 

during  Uiis  first  visit.  Lieutenant  Beale,  who  held  importan* 
Government  dispatches  for  Colonel  Fremont,  made  arrangements 
to  leave  for  San  Jose  on  the  second  morning,  and  offered  me  a 
aeat  on  the  back  of  one  of  his  mules.  Our  fellow-passenger 
Colonel  Lyons,  of  Louisiana,  joined  us,  completing  the  mystic 
Dumber  which  travelers  should  be  careful  not  to  exceed.  We 
made  hasty  tours  through  all  the  shops  on  Clay,  Kearney,  Wash- 
ington and  Montgomery  streets,  on  the  hunt  of  the  proper  equip- 
ments. Articles  of  clothing  were  cheaper  than  they  had  been  or 
were  afterwards  ;  tolerable  blankets  could  be  had  for  $6  a  pair ; 
coarse  flannel  shirts,  $3 ;  Chilian  spurs,  with  rowels  two  inches 
long,  $5,  and  Mexican  sarapes,  of  coarse  texture  but  gay  color, 
$10.  We  could  find  no  saddle-bags  in  the  town,  and  were  neces- 
sitated to  pack  one  of  the  mules.  Among  our  camping  materials 
were  a  large  hatchet  and  plenty  of  rope  for  making  lariats ;  in 
addition  to  which  each  of  us  carried  a  wicker  flask  slung  over  one 
shoulder.  We  laid  aside  our  civilized  attu-e,  stuck  long  sheath- 
knives  into  our  belts,  put  pistols  into  our  pockets  and  holsters,  and 
buckled  on  the  immense  spurs  which  jingled  as  they  struck  the 
ground  at  every  step.  Our  "  animals"  were  already  in  waiting  ; 
an  alazauy  the  Californian  term  for  a  sorrel  horse,  a  beautifdl 
brown  mule,  two  of  a  cream  color  and  a  dwarfish  little  fellow 
whose  long  forelock  and  shaggy  mane  gave  him  altogether  ar 
elfish  character  of  cunning  and  mischief. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

TO    THE    SAN    JOAQUIN,    ON    MULEBACK 

li  wap  aoon  before  we  got  everything  fairly  in  order  and  moTod 
?lowly  away  from  the  City  Hotel,  where  a  number  of  our  fellow- 
passengers — the  only  idlers  in  the  place,  because  just  arrived — 
were  collected  to  see  us  start.  Shouldering  our  packs  until  we 
should  be  able  to  purchase  an  aparejo^  or  pack-saddle,  from  some 
Mexican  on  the  road,  and  dragging  after  us  two  reluctant  mules 
by  their  lariats  of  horse-hair,  we  climbed  the  first  "  rise,"  dividing 
the  town  from  the  Happy  Valley.  Here  we  found  a  party  of  So- 
norians  encamped  on  the  sand,  with  their  mules  turned  loose  and 
the  harness  scattered  about  them.  After  a  little  bargaining,  we 
obtained  one  of  their  pack-saddles  for  eight  dollars.  Lieut.  Beale 
jumped  down,  caught  the  little  mule — ^which  to  his  great  surprise 
he  recognized  as  an  old  acquaintance  among  the  Rocky  Mountaina 
during  the  previous  winter — and  commenced  packing.  In  mv 
Beal  to  learn  all  the  mysteries  of  mountain-life,  I  attempted  to 
•light  and  assist  him  ;  but  alas !  the  large  rowel  of  my  spur  caught 
in  the  folds  of  a  blanket  strapped  to  the  saddle,  the  girth  slipped 
and  I  was  ingloriously  thrown  on  my  back.  The  Sonorianj 
laughed  heartily,  but  came  forward  and  re-adjusted  the  saddle  with 
a  willingness  that  reconciled  me  to  their  mirth. 


64  ULDORADU. 

All  was  finally  arranged  and  we  urged  our  mules  along  in  the 
sand,  over  hills  covered  with  thickets  of  evergreen  oak.  The  guns 
of  the  Ohio,  fired  for  the  obsequies  of  ex-president  Polk,  echoed 
»mong  the  mountains  of  the  bay,  and  companies  of  horsemen, 
coming  in  from  the  interior,  appeared  somewhat  startled  at  the 
wund.  Three  miles  from  San  Francisco  is  the  old  Mission  ol 
Dolores,  situated  in  a  sheltered  valley,  which  is  watered  by  a  per- 
petual stream,  fed  from  the  tall  peaks  towards  the  sea.  As  we 
descended  a  long  sand-hiU  before  reaching  the  valley,  Picayune, 
3ur  pack-mule,  suddenly  came  to  a  stop.  Lieut.  Beale,  who  had 
%  most  thorough  knowledge  of  mule-craft,  dismounted  and  untied 
the  lash-rope  ;  the  pack  had  slightly  shifted,  and  Picayun2,  who 
was  as  knowing  as  he  was  perverse,  would  not  move  a  step  till  it 
was  properly  adjusted.  We  now  kept  the  two  loose  mules  in  ad- 
vance and  moved  forward  in  better  order  The  mountains  beyond 
the  Mission  are  bleak  and  barren  and  the  dire  north-west  wind., 
sweeping  in  from  the  sea  through  their  gorges,  chilled  us  to  the 
bones  as  we  rode  over  them. 

After  ascending  for  some  distance  by  a  broad  road,  in  which, 
at  short  intervals,  lay  the  carcasses  of  mules  and  horses,  attended 
by  flocks  of  buzzards,  we  passed  through  a  notch  in  the  main 
chain,  whence  there  was  a  grand  look-out  to  the  sea  on  one  side, 
to  the  bay  on  the  other.  We  were  glad,  however,  to  descend  from 
these  raw  and  gusty  heights,  along  the  sides  of  the  mountains  of 
San  Bruno,  to  the  fertile  and  sheltered  plains  of  Santa  Clara 
Large  herds  of  cattle  are  pastured  in  this  neighborhood,  the  grass 
in  the  damp  flats  and  wild  oats  on  the  mountains,  affording  them 
gufficient  food  duiing  the  dry  season.  At  Sanchez'  Ranche,  which 
we  reached  just  before  sunset,  there  was  neither  grass  nor  barley 
•nd  we  turned  our  mules  supperless  into  the  corral.     The  Senorg 


SCENERY  OF  THE  INLAND.  65 

Sanchez,  after  some  persuasion,  stirred  up  the  fire  in  the  mud 
kitchen  and  prepared  for  us  a  guisado  of  beef  and  onions,  with 
HOToe  rank  black  tea.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  we  carried  oui 
equipments  into  the  house,  and  by  a  judicious  arrangement  of 
our  saddles,  blankets  and  clothes,  made  a  grand  bed  for  three 
where  we  should  have  slept,  had  fleas  been  lobsters.  But  as  they 
were  fleas,  of  the  largest  and  savagest  kind,  we  nearly  perished 
before  morning.  Rather  than  start  for  the  day  with  starved  ani- 
mals, we  purchased  half  a,  fanega — a  little  more  than  a  bushel — 
of  wheat,  for  ^5.  Mr.  Beale's  horse  was  the  only  one  who  did 
justice  to  this  costly  feed,  and  we  packed  the  rest  on  the  back  of 
little  Picayune,  who  gave  an  extra  groan  when  it  was  added  to  hj« 
load. 

Our  road  now  led  over  broad  plains,  through  occasional  belts 
of  timber.  The  grass  was  almost  entirely  burnt  up,  and  dry, 
gravelly  arroyos,  in  and  out  of  which  we  went  with  a  plunge-and 
a  scramble,  marked  the  courses  of  the.  winter  streams.  The  air 
was  as  warm  and  bakny  as  May,  and  fragrant  with  the  aroma  of 
a  species  of  gnaphalium,  which  made  it  delicious  to  inhale.  Not 
a  cloud  was  to  be  seen  in  the  sky,  and  the  high,  sparsely-wooded 
mountains  on  either  hand,  showed  softened  and  indistinct  through 
a  blue  haze.  The  character  of  the  scenery -was  entirely  new  to 
me.  The  splendid  valley,  untenanted  except  by  a  few  solitary 
rancheros  living  many  miles  apart,  seemed  to  be  some  deserted 
location  of  ancient  civilization  and  culture.  The  wooded  slopes 
of  the  mountains  are  lawns,  planted  by  Nature  with  a  taate  to 
which  Art  could  add  no  charm.  The  trees  have  nothing  of  the 
wild  growth  of  our  forests ;  they  are  compact,  picturesque,  and 
gr3uped  in  every  variety  of  graceful  outline.  The  hills  were 
(jovered   to  the  summit  with  fields  of  wild  oats,  coloring  them 


66  ELDORADO 

■s  far  as  tbe  eye  could  reach,  with  tawnj  gold,  against  which  the 
dark,  glossy  green  of  the  oak  and  cypress  showed  with  peculiai 
effect.  As  we  advanced  further,  these  natural  harvests  extended 
over  the  plain,  mixed  with  vast  heds  of  wild  mustard,  eight  feet 
in  height,  under  which  a  thick  crop  of  grass  had  sprung  up,  fur 
niehing  sustenance  to  the  thousands  of  cattle,  roaming  everywhere 
unherded.  The  only  cultivation  I  saw  was  a  small  field  of  maize, 
green  and  with  good  ears. 

I  never  felt  a  more  thorough,  exhilarating  sense  of  freedom  than 
when  first  fairly  afloat  oh  these  vast  and  heautiful  plains.  With 
the  mule  as  my  shallop,  urged  steadily  onward  past  the  tranquil 
isles  and  long  promontories  of  timber  ;  drinking,  with  a  delight 
that  almost  made  it  a  flavor  on  the  palate,  the  soft,  elastic,  fragrant 
air  ;  cut  off,  for  the  time,  from  every  irksome  requirement  ol 
civilization,  and  cast  loose,  like  a  stray,  unshackled  spirit,  on  the 
bosom  of  a  new  earth,  I  seemed  to  take  a  fresh  and  more  perfect 
lease  of  existence.  The  mind  was  in  exquisite  harmony  with  the 
outer  world,  and  the  same  sensuous  thrill  of  Life  vibrated  through 
each.  The  mountains  showed  themselves  through  the  magical 
screen  of  the  haze  ;  far  on  our  left  the  bay  made  a  faint,  glim- 
mering line,  like  a  rod  of  light,  cutting  off  the  hardly-seen  hills 
beyond  it,  from  the  world  ;  and  on  all  sides,  from  among  the  glossy 
clumps  of  bay  and  evergreen  oak,  the  chirrup  and  cheery  whistle 
of  birds  rang  upon  the  air. 

After  a  ride  of  twenty-five  miles  without  grass,  water  or  sign  (A 
habitation,  we  stopped  to  rest  at  a  ranche,  in  the  garden  of  which 
I  found  a  fine  patch  of  grape  vines,  laden  with  flourishing  bunches. 
We  watered  our  mules  with  a  basket  of  Indian  manufacture,  so 
closely  plaited  that  scarcely  a  drop  found  its  way  through.  At 
the  ranche  we  met  an  3migrant  returning  from  the  mines,  and 


RANCHES    ON    THE    ROAD.  67 

were  strongly  adnsed  to  turn  back.  He  had  evidentlj  mistaken 
his  capacity  when  he  came  to  California.  "  You  think  you  are 
very  wise,"  said  he,  "  and  you'll  believe  nothing  ;  but  it  won't  be 
leng  before  you'll  find  out  the  truth  of  my  words  You'U  have  to 
deep  on  the  ground  every  night  and  take  care  of  your  own  animals; 
tnd  you  may  think  yourselves  lucky  if  you  get  your  regular  meals." 
We  fully  agreed  with  him  in  every  respect,  but  he  took  it  all  for 
■nbelieving  irony.  At  Whisman's  ranche,  two  miles  further,  we 
stopped  to  dinner.  The  sight  of  a  wooden  house  gladdened  our 
eyes,  and  still  more  so  that  of  ^he  home-made  bread,  fresh  butter 
and  milk  which  Mrs.  Whisman  set  before  us.  The  family  had 
lived  there  nearly  two  years  and  were  well  contented  with  the 
country.  The  men  go  occasionally  to  the  mines  and  dig,  but  are 
prudent  enough  not  to  neglect  their  farming  operations.  The 
grass  on  the  vega  before  the  house  was  still  thick  and  gi-eeu,  and 
a  well  fifteen  feet  deep  supplied  them  with  good  water.  The 
vegetables  in  their  garden,  though  planted  late,  were  growing 
finely ;  the  soil  is  a  rich,  dark  loam,  now  as  cracked  and  dry  as  a 
cinder,  but  which,  under  the  Winter  and  Spring  rains,  is  hidden 
by  a  deluge  of  vegetable  bloom. 

As  evening  drew  on  the  white  spire  of  Santa  Clara  Mission 
>liowed  in  the  distance,  and  an  hour's  sharp  riding  brought  us  in 
front  of  its  old  white-washed  walls.  The  buildings,  once  very 
(Spacious  in  extent,  are  falling  into  ruin,  and  a  single  monk  in  the 
oorridor,  habited  in  a  very  dirty  cowl  and  cassock,  was  the  onlj 
saintly  inhabitant  we  saw.  The  Mission  estate,  containing  twenty- 
five  thousand  head  of  cattle  and  many  square  leagues  of  land,  waa 
placed  by  Gen.  Kearney  in  charge  of  Padre  del  Real,  President 
of  the  Missions  of  the  North.  The  Padre,  however,  exceeded  hii 
power*)  by  making  leases  of  the  Mission  lands  to  emigrants  and  otben 


68  ELDORADO. 

and  do«3ling  the  oroceeds  to  the  henefit  of  the  Church  Personal. 
At  the  time  we  passed,  several  frame  houses  had  sprung  up 
around  the  Mission,  on  grounds  thus  leased.  Beyond  the  build- 
ings, we  entered  a  magnificent  road,  three  miles  in  length,  and 
shaded  by  an  avenue  of  evergreen  oaks,  leading,  to  Pueblo  San 
Jose,  which  we  reached  at  dusk. 

Pueblo  San  Jose,  situated  about  five  miles  from  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  and  in  the  mouth  of  the 
beautiful  valley  of  San  Jose,  is  one  of  the  most  flourishing  inland 
towns  in  California.  On  my  first  ^sit,  it  was  mainly  a  collection 
of  adobe  houses,  with  tents  and  a  few  clapboard  dwellings,  of  the 
season's  growth,  scattered  over  a  square  half-mile.  As  we  were 
entering,  I  noticed  a  little  white  box,  with  pillars  and  triangular 
fayade  in  front,  and  remarked  to  my  friend  that  it  had  certainly 
been  taken  bodily  from  Lynn  and  set  down  there.  Truly  enough^ 
it  was  a  shoe  store  !  Several  stores  and  hotels  had  been  opened 
within  a  few  weeks,  and  the  price  of  lots  was  only  lower  than  those 
of  San  Francisco.  We  rode  into  an  open  plaza,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  in  length,  about  which  the  town  was  built,  and  were  directed 
to  the  Miner's  Home,  a  decent-looking  hotel,  near  its  northern 
ond.  Our  mules  were  turned  into  a  stable  at  hand ;  tea,  with  the 
substantial  addition  of  beefsteak,  was  served  to  us,  and  lighting 
the  calumet,  we  lounged  on  the  bench  at  the  door,  enjoying  that 
repose  which  is  only  tasted  after  wearisome  travel  Lieut.  Beal« 
Went  off  to  seek  Col.  Fremont,  who  was  staying  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Grove  Cook  ;  Col.  Lyons  and  myself  lay  down  on  the  floor 
wnong  half  a  dozen  other  travelers  and  fleas  which  could  not  be 
counted. 

In  the  morning  we  went  with  Lieut.  Beale  to  call  upon  Col 
Fremont,  whom  we  found  on   the  portico  of  Mr   Cook's  house, 


COLONEL    rREMONT.  69 

wearing  a  sombrero  and  Califomian  jacket,  and  showing  no  trace 
jf  the  terrible  hardships  he  had  lately  undergone.  It  may  be  in- 
teresting to  the  thousands  who  have  followed  him,  as  readers  may, 
on  his  remarkable  journeys  and  explorations  for  the  past  eigbi 
yeai-s,  to  know  that  he  is  a  man  of  about  thirty -five  years  of  age  , 
of  medium  height,  and  lightly,  but  most  compactly  knit — ^in  fact, 
I  have  seen  in  no  other  man  the  qualities  of  lightness,  activity, 
strength  and  physical  endurance  in  so  perfect  an  equilibrium. 
His  face  is  rather  thin  and  embrowned  by  exposure  ;  his  nose  a 
Sold  aquiline  and  his  eyes  deep-set  and  keen  as  a  hawk's.  The 
rough  camp-life  of  many  years  has  lessened  in  no  degree  his  na 
tive  refinement  of  character  and  polish  of  manners.  A  strangei 
would  never  suppose  him  to  be  the  Columbus  of  our  central) 
wildernesses,  though  when  so  informed,  would  believe  it  without 
surprise. 

After  the  disastrous  fate  of  his  party  on  the  head  waters  of  the 
Rio  del  Norte,  Col.  Fremont  took  the  southern  route  through 
Sonora,  striking  the  Gila  River  at  the  Pimos  Village.  It  was  ex- 
ceedingly rough  and  fatiguing,  but  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find 
in  the  bottoms  along  the  river,  where  no  vegetation  had  been 
heard  of  or  expected,  large  patches  of  wild  wheat.  The  only 
supposition  by  which  this  could  be  accounted  for,  was  that  it  fell 
from  the  store-wagons  attached  to  Major  Graham's  command, 
which  passed  over  the  route  the  previous  autumn.  Otherwise, 
the  bursting  forth  of  a  river  in  the  midst  of  the  Great  Desert, 
i^hijh  I  have  already  mentioned,  and  the  appearance  of  wheal 
imong  the  sterile  sands  of  the  Gila,  would  seem  like  a  marvellous 
coincidence,  not  whoUy  unsui'^ed  to  the  time.  Col.  Fremont  had 
just  returned  from  the  Mariposa  River,  where  his  party  of  mei 
was  snccessfullj  engagf d  in  gold-digging    In  addition,  he  had  com 


70  KLDORADO. 

menoed  a  more  secure  business,  in  the  establishment  of  a  etetaxt 
saw-mill  at  Pueblo  San  Jose.  The  forests  of  redwood  close  at 
hand  make  fine  timber,  and  he  had  a  year's  work  engaged  before 
the  mill  was  in  operation.  Lumber  was  then  bringing  $500  pel 
tLousand  feet,  and  not  long  before  brought  f  1,500. 

At  the  house  of  Mr.  Cook  we  also  saw  Andrew  Sublette,  ihe 
celebrated  mountaineer,  who  accompanied  Lieut.  Beale  on  hi 
overland  journey,  the  winter  before.  He  was  lame  from  scurvy 
brought  on  by  privations  endured  on  that  occasion  and  his  subse- 
quent labors  in  the  placers.  Sublette,  who  from  his  bravery  and 
daring  has  obtained  among  the  Indians  the  name  of  Kee-ta-tah- 
ve-sak,  or  One-who-walks-in-fire,  is  a  man  of  about  thirty-seven, 
of  fair  complexion,  long  brown  hair  and  beard,  and  a  countenance 
expressing  the  extreme  of  manly  frankness  and  integrity.  Lieut. 
Beale,  who  has  the  highest  admiration  of  his  qualities,  related  to 
me  many  instances  of  his  heroic  character.  Preuss  and  Kreui- 
feldt,  Fremont's  old  campaigners,  who  so  narrowly  escaped  per- 
ishing among  the  snows  of  the  central  chain,  were  at  the  Miner's 
Home,  at  the  time  of  our  stay. 

About  noon  we  saddled  our  mules,  laid  in  a  stock  of  provisions 
and  started  for  Stockton.  At  the  outset,  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  keep  the  animals  in  order ;  Picayune,  in  spite  of  his  load, 
dasbed  out  into  the  mustard  fields,  and  Ambrose,  our  brown  mule, 
led  us  off  in  all  sorts  of  zigzag  chases.  The  man  to  whom  we  had 
paid  $2  a  head  for  their  night's  lodging  and  fare,  had  absolutely 
rtarved  them,  and  the  poor  beasts  resisted  our  efforts  to  make  them 
travel.  In  coursing  after  them  through  the  tail  weeds,  we  got  ofl 
the  trail,  and  it  was  some  time  before  we  made  much  progress 
towards  the  Mission  of  San  Jose.  The  valley,  fifteen  miles  in 
Oreadth,  is  well  watered  and  may  be  made  to  produce  the  finest 


A    SONORIAN    COMRADE.  71 

«rheat  crops  in  the  world.  It  is  perfectly  level  and  dotted  all  ovei 
its  surface  with  clumps  of  magnificent  oaks,  cypresses  and  syca- 
mores. A  few  miles  west  of  the  Pueblo  there  is  a  large  forest  ol 
red  wood,  or  California  cypress,  and  the  quicksilver  mines  of  Santa 
(Jlara  are  in  the  same  vicinity.  Sheltered  from  the  cold  winds  ol 
the  sea,  the  climate  is  like  that  of  Italy.     The  air  is  a  fluid  balui. 

Before  traveling  many  mUes  we  overtook  a  Sonorian  riding  on 
his  burro  or  jackass,  with  a  wooden  bowl  hanging  to  the  saddle 
and  a  crowbar  and  lance  slung  crosswise  before  him.  We  oflfered 
him  the  use  of  our  extra  mule  if  he  would  join  us.  to  which  he 
gave  a  willing  consent.  Burro  was  accordingly  driven  loose  laden 
with  the  gold-hunting  tools,  and  our  Bedouin,  whom  we  christened 
Tompkins,  trotted  beside  us  well  pleased.  At  the  Mission  of  San 
Jose  we  dispatched  him  to  buy  meat,  and  for  half  a  dollar  he 
brought  us  at  least  six  yards,  salted  and  slightly  dried  for  trans- 
portation. The  Mission — a  spacious  stone  building,  with  court- 
yard and  long  corridors— is  built  upon  the  lower  slope  of  the 
mountains  dividing  San  Francisco  Bay  from  the  San  Joaquin 
vaUey,  and  a  garden  extends  behind  it  along  the  banks  of  a  little 
stream. 

The  sight  of  a  luxuriant  orchard  peeping  over  the  top  of  its 
mud  walls,  was  too  tempting  to  be  resisted,  so,  leaving  Lieutenant 
Beale  to  jog  ahead  with  Tompkins  and  the  loose  animals,  Colone' 
Lyons  and  myself  rode  up  the  hill,  scrambled  over  and  founc 
ourselves  in  a  wilderness  of  ripening  fruit.  Hundredf.  of  peai 
and  apple  trees  stood  almost  breaking  with  their  harvest,  which 
lay  rotting  by  cart-loads  on  the  ground.  Plums,  grapes,  figs'  and 
other  fruits,  not  yet  ripened,  filled  the  garden.  I  shall  never 
forget  how  grateful  the  pears  of  San  Jose  were  to  our  parched 
throats,  nor  what  an  alarming  quantity  we  ate  before  we  found  i< 


72  ELDORADO. 

possible  to  stop.  I  have  been  told  that  the  garden  is  irrigalei 
during  ihe  dry  season,  and  that  where  this  method  is  practicable, 
fruit  trees  of  all  kinds  can  be  made  to  yield  to  a  remarkable 
extent. 

Immediately  on  leaving  the  Mission  we  struck  into  a  narrow 
iiaAon  among  the  mountains,  and  following  its  windings  reached 
iht  "  divide,"  or  ridge  which  separates  the  streams,  in  an  hour. 
From  the  summit  the  view  extended  inland  over  deep  valleys  and 
hazy  mountain  ranges  as  far  as  the  vision  could  reach.  Lines  of 
beautiful  timber  followed  the  course  of  the  arroyos  down  the  sides, 
streaking  the  yellow  hue  of  the  wild  oats,  which  grew  as  thickly 
as  an  ordinary  crop  at  home.  Descending  to  a  watered  valley,  we 
heard  some  one  shouting  from  a  slope  on  our  left,  where  a  herd  of 
cattle  was  grazing.  It  was  Lieut.  Beale,  who  had  chosen  our 
camping-ground  in  a  little  glen  below,  under  a  cluster  of  oaks. 
.We  unpacked,  watered  our  mules,  led  them  up  a  steep  ascent, 
and  picketed  them  in  a  thick  bed  of  oats.  I  had  taken  the  lash- 
rope,  of  plaited  raw-hide,  for  the  p.j:pose  of  tethering  Ambrose, 
but  Tompkins,  who  saw  me,  cried  :  "  Cuidado  !  hay  hastantt 
coyotes  aqui,''''  (Take  care  !  there  are  plenty  of  coyotes  here)— 
which  animals  invariably  gnaw  in  twain  all  kinds  of  ropes  except 
hemp  and  horse-hair.  The  picketing  done,  we  sot  about  cooking 
our  supper  ;  Tompkins  was  very  active  in  making  the  fire,  and 
when  aL  was  ready,  produced  a  good  dish  of  stewed  beef  and 
tortillas,  to  which  we  added  some  ham,  purchased  in  San  Jose 
*t  eighty  cents  the  pound.  We  slept  under  the  branching 
curtains  of  our  glen  chamber,  wakened  only  once  or  twice  by  the 
howling  of  the  coyotes  and  the  sprinkling  of  rain  m  our  faces 
By  sunrise  we  had  breakfast  and  started  again. 

The  first  twenty  miles  of  our  journey  passed  through  one  of 


CROSSING    THE    COAST    RANOB.  73 

the  most  beautiful  regions  in  the  world.  The  broad  oval  valleys, 
shaded  by  magnificent  oaks  and  enclosed  by  the  lofty  mountains 
of  the  Coast  Range,  open  beyond  each  other  like  a  suite  of  palaot 
chambers,  each  charming  more  than  the  last.  The  land  in 
adniiiably  adapted  for  agricultural  or  grazing  purposes,  and  m  a 
few  years  will  become  one  of  the  most  flourishing  districts  in 
California. 

We  passed  from  these  into  hot,  scorched  plains,  separated  by 
low  ranges  of  hills,  on  one  of  which  is  situated  Livermore'a 
Ranche,  whose  owner,  Mr.  Livermore,  is  the  oldest  American 
resident  in  the  country,  having  emigrated  thither  in  1820.  He  is 
married  to  a  native  woman,  and  seems  to  have  entirely  outgrown 
his  former  habits  of  life.  We  obtained  from  him  dinner  for 
ourselves  and  mules  at  $2  25  each  ;  and  finding  there  was  neither 
grass  nor  water  for  twenty-five  miles,  made  an  early  start  for  our 
loner  afternoon's  ride.  The  road  entered  another  cafion,  through 
which  we  toiled  for  miles  before  reaching  the  last  "  divide."  On 
the  summit  we  met  several  emigrant  companies  with  wagons, 
coming  from  Sutter's  Mill.  The  children,  as  brown  and  wild- 
looking  as  Indians,  trudged  on  in  the  dust,  before  the  oxen,  and 
several  girls  of  twelve  years  old,  rode  behind  on  horses,  keeping 
together  the  loose  animaJs  of  the  party.  Their  invariable  greeting 
was  :  "  How  far  to  water  .'"' 

From  the  top  of  the  divide  we  hailed  with  a  shout  the  great 
plain  of  San  Joaquin,  visible  through  the  openings  among  the 
idUs,  like  a  dark-blue  ocean,  to  which  the  leagues  of  wild  cats 
nr  ade  a  vast  beach  of  yellow  sand.  At  least  a  hundred  miles  of 
tts  surface  were  visible,  and  the  hazy  air,  made  more  deubC  by  the 
emoke  of  the  burning  tulfe  marshes,  alone  prevented  us  from 

seeing  the  snowy  outlme  of  the  Sierra  Nevada      After  descending 
VOL.  I.       4 


74  ELDORADO 

and  traveling  a  dozen  miles  on  the  hot,  arid  leve^  we  readied  a 
eloogh  making  out  from  the  San  Joaquin.  The  sun  had  long  been 
down,  but  a  bright  quarter-moon  was  in  the  sky,  by  whose  light 
we  selected  a  fine  old  tree  for  our  place  of  repose  A  tent, 
belonging  to  some  other  travelers,  was  pitched  at  a  little  distance. 

Feeling  the  ground  with  our  hands  to  find  the  spots  where  tl  e 
grass  was  freshest,  we  led  our  mules  into  a  little  tongue  of 
meadow-land,  half-embraced  by  the  slough,  and  tied  them  to'  th( 
low  branches,  giving  them  the  full  benefit  of  their  tether.  Tomp- 
kins complained  of  illness,  and  rolling  himself  in  his  sarape,  lay 
down  on  the  plain,  under  the  open  sky.  We  were  too  hungry  to 
dispose  of  the  day  so  quickly ;  a  yard  of  jerked  beef  was  cut  off,  and 
while  Lieut.  Beale  prepared  it  for  cooking,  Col.  Lyons  and  my- 
self wandered  about  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  picking  up  every- 
thing that  cracked  under  our  feet.  The  clear  red  blaze  of  the 
fire  made  our  oak-tree  an  enchanted  palace.  Its  great  arms,  that 
arched  high  above  us  and  bent  down  till  they  nearly  reached  the 
ground,  formed  a  hollow  dome  around  the  columnar  trunk,  which 
was  fretted  and  embossed  with  a  thousand  ornaments  of  foliage. 
The  light  streamed  up,  momentarily,  reddening  the  deeps  within 
deeps  of  the  bronze-like-  leaves ;  then  sinking  low  again,  the  sha- 
dows returned  and  the  stars  winked  brightly  between  the  wreathed 
mullions  of  our  fantastic  windows. 

The  meal  finished,  we  went  towards  the  tent  in  our  search  for 
water.  Several  sleepers,  rolled  in  thfeir  blankets,  were  stretched 
nnder  the  trees,  and  two  of  them,  to  our  surprise,  were  enjoying 
the  luxury  of  musquito  bars.  On  the  bank  of  the  slough,  we 
found  a  shallow  well,  covered  with  dead  boughs  ;  Lieut.  Beale, 
stretching  his  hand  down  towards  the  water,  took  hold  of  a  snake, 
which  was  even  more  startled  than  he.     Our  quest  was  repaid  hj 


THE    M08QUIT08    AND    THE    FERRT.  75 

%  hearty  draught,  notwithstanding  its  earthy  flavor,  and  we  betooi 
cm-selves  to  sleep.  The  mosqnitos  were  terribly  annoying  ;  aftei 
many  vain  attempts  to  escape  them,  I  was  forced  to  roll  a  hlankei 
around  my  head,  by  which  means  I  could  sleep  till  I  began  to 
smother,  and  then  repeat  the  operation.  Waking  about  mid- 
night, confused  and  flushed  with  this  business,  I  saw  the  moon, 
looming  fiery  and  large  on  the  horizon  "  Surely,"  thought  I, 
with  a  half-awake  wandering  of  fancy,  "  the  moon  has  been  bitten 
by  mosquitos,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  her  face  is  so  swollen 
and  inflamed." 

Five  miles  next  morning  took  us  to  the  San  Joaquin,  which  was 
about  thirty  yards  in  width.  Three  Yankees  had  "  squatted"  at 
the  crossing,  and  established  a  ferry ;  the  charge  for  carrying 
over  a  man  and  horse  was  $2,  and  as  this  route  was  much  traveled, 
their  receipts  ranged  from  $500  to  $1,000  daily.  In  addition  to 
this,  they  had  a  tavern  and  grazing  camp',  which  were  very  pro- 
fitable. They  built  the  ferry-boat,  which  was  a  heavy  flat,  hauled 
across  with  a  rope,  with  their  own  hands,  as  well  as  a  launch  of 
sixty  tons,  doing  a  fine  business  between  Stockton  and  San  Fran- 
cisco. Tompkins,  who  perhaps  imagined  that  some  witchcraft  of 
ours  had  occasioned  his  illness,  here  left  us,  and  we  saw  hia 
swarthy  face  no  more.  Disengaging  our  loose  mules  from  a  corral 
full  of  horses,  into  which  they  had  dashed,  from  a  sudden  freak 
of  afiectiou,  we  launched  into  another  plain,  crossed  in  all  direc- 
tions by  tule  swamps,  and  made  towards  a  dim  shoie  of  tinobei 
vwelve  miles  distant. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CAMP-LIFE,     4.ND    A    RIDE    TO    THE    DIGGINGS. 

As  we  came  oflFthe  scorching  calm  of  the  plain  into  the  shadow 
if  the  trees,  we  discerned  two  tents  ahead,  on  a  gentle  knoll 
This  was  the  camp  of  Major  Graham,  who  commanded  the  expe- 
dition sent  from  IMonterey,  Mexico,  overland  into  California,  in 
the  summer  of  1848.  He  was  employing  a  little  time,  before  re- 
turning home,  in  speculating  on  his  own  account  and  had  estab- 
lished himself  near  Stockton  with  a  large  herd  of  horses  and  cattle, 
on  which  he  was  making  good  profits.  Lieut.  Beale  was  an  old 
acquaintance  of  the  Major's,  and  as  friends  of  the  former  we  were 
made  equally  welcome.  We  found  him  sitting  on  a  camp-stool, 
outside  the  tent,  wearing  a  hunting-jacket  and  broad-brimmed 
white  hat.  With  a  prompt  hospitality  that  would  take  no  denial, 
he  ordered  our  mules  driven  out  to  his  caballada,  had  our  packs 
piled  up  in  the  shade  of  one  of  his  oaks,  and  gave  directions  for 
dinner.  For  four  days  thereafter  we  saw  the  stars  through  his 
tree-tops,  between  our  dreams,  and  shared  the  abundant  fare  of 
hife  camp-table,  varying  the  delightful  repose  of  such  life  by  an 
occasional  gallop  into  Stockton.  Mr.  Callahan,  an  old  settler,  who 
had  pitched  his  tent  near  Major  Graham's,  went  out  every  morning 
to  hunt  e\k  among  the  tule,  and  we  were  daily  supplied  with  steaks 


STOCKTJN  77 

and  cutlets  from  his  spoils.  In  the  early  morning  the  elk  might 
be  seen  in  bands  of  forty  or  fifty,  grazing  on  the  edge  of  the 
marshes,  where  they  were  sometimes  lassoed  by  the  native  vaqae- 
ros,  and  taken  into  Stockton.  We  saw  the  coyotes  occasionallj 
prowling  along  the  margin  of  the  slough,  but  they  took  good  can 
to  sneak  off  before  a  chance  covld  be  had  to  shoot  them  The 
plain  was  perforated  in  all  directions  by  the  holes  of  a  large  bur- 
rowing squirrel,  of  a  gray  color,  and  flocks  of  magpies  and  tufted 
partridges  made  their  covert  in  the  weeds  and  wild  oats. 

Our  first  visit  to  Stockton  was  made  in  company,  on  some  of 
Major  Graham's  choicest  horses.  A  mettled  roan  canalo  fell  to 
my  share,  and  the  gallop  of  five  miles  without  check  was  most  in 
spiring.  A  view  of  Stockton  was  something  to  be  remembered. 
There,  in  the  heart  of  California,  where  the  last  winter  stood  a 
solitary  ranche  in  the  midst  of  tule  marshes,  I  found  a  canvae 
town  of  a  thousand  inhabitants,  and  a  port  with  twenty-five  vessels 
at  anchor!  The  mingled  noises  of  labor  around — the  click  of 
of  hammers  and  the  grating  of  saws — the  shouts  of  mule  drivers 
— the  jingling  of  spurs — the  jar  apd  jostle  of  wares  in  the  tents — 
almost  cheated  me  into  the  belief  that  it  was  some  old  commercial 
mart,  familiar  with  such  soun'ls  for  years  past.  Four  months, 
only,  had  sufficed  to  make  the  place  what  it  was  ;  and  in  that  time 
a  wholesale  firm  established  there  (one  out  of  a  dozen)  had  done 
business  to  the  amount  of  $100,000.  The  same  party  had  just 
purchased  a  lot  eighty  by  one  hundred  feet,  on  the  principal  street, 
for  $6,000,  and  the  cost  of  erecting  a  common  one-story  clapboard 
house  on  it  was  $15,000. 

I  can  liken  my  days  at  Major  Graham's  camp  to  no  previouj 
phase  of  my  existence.  They  were  the  realization  of  a  desire 
wmetimes  felt,  sometimes  expressed  in  poetry,  but  rarely  enjoyed 


78  ELDORADO. 

in  complete  fulfilment.  In  the  repose  of  Nature,  raibrokea  da} 
or  night ;  the  subtle  haze  pervading  the  air,  softening  all  sights 
and  subduing  all  soirnds  ;  the  still,  breathless  heat  of  the  day  and 
the  starry  hush  of  the  night — the  oak-tree  was  for  me  a  perfect 
Castle  of  Indolence.  Lying  at  full  length  on  the  ground,  in  list- 
less ease,  whichever  way  I  looked  my  eye  met  the  same  enchanting 
gi-oupage  of  the  oaks,  the  same  glorious  outlines  and  massed  sha- 
dows of  foliage  ;  while  frequent  openings,  through  the  farthesi 
clumps,  gave  boundless  glimpses  of  the  plain  beyond.  Scarcely 
a  leaf  stirred  in  the  slumberous  air  ;  and  giving  way  to  the  deli- 
cate languor  that  stole  in  upon  my  brain,  I  seemed  to  lie  apart 
from  my  own  mind  and  to  watch  the  lazy  waves  of  thought  that 
sank  on  its  shores  without  a  jar.  All  effort — even  the  memory  ol 
effort — came  like  a  sense  of  pain.  It  was  an  abandonment  to 
rest,  like  that  of  the  "  Lotos-Eaters,"  and  the  feeling  of  th  jm 
tines,  not  the  words,  was  with  me  constantly : 

"  Why  should  we  toil  alone, 
We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things. 
And  make  perpetual  moan. 
Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown ; 
Nor  ever  fold  our  wings 
And  cease  from  wanderings, 
Nor  steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm : 
Nor  barken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 
•  There  is  no  joy  but  cix.m  !'  " 

There  is  one  peculiarity  about  the  Californian  oaks,  which  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  seen  noticed.  In  the  dry  heat  of  the  lon<^ 
sommer  seasons,  their  fibre  becomes  brittle,  and  frequently  at 
noon-day,  when  not  a  breath  of  air  is  stirring,  one  of  'their  stout 
arms  parts  from  the  trunk  without  the  slightest  warning  sound, 


ROCKT    MOUNTAIN    MEN  79 

and  drops  bodfly  to  the  earth.  More  than  one  instance  is  rejited, 
in  which  persons  have  been  killed  by  their  fall.  For  this  reason 
the  native  Califomians  generally  camp  outside  of  tiie  range  of  the 
Umbs. 

After  discussing  our  farther  plans,  it  was  decided  to  visit  thp 
Mokelumne  Diggings,  which  were  the  most  accessible  from  Stock- 
ton. Accordingly,  on  Monday  morning,  our  mules  were  driven 
in  from  the  plain  and  saddled  for  the  journey.  The  sun  was 
shining  hotly  as  we  rode  over  the  plain  to  Stockton,  and  the  tent- 
streets  of  the  miraculous  town  glowed  like  the  avenues  of  a  brick- 
Kiln.  The  thermometer  stood  at  98°,  and  the  parched,  sandy  soil 
burnt  through  our  very  boot-soles.  We  therefore  determined  to 
wait  till  evenuig  before  starting  for  another  stage  to  the  Moke- 
lumne. While  waiting  in  the  tent  of  Mr.  Belt,  the  alcalde  of  the 
place,  I  made  acquaintance  with  two  noted  mountaineers — Mr 
William  Knight,  the  first  man  who  followed  in  the  track  of  Lewis 
and  Clark,  on  the  Colimibia  River,  and  White  Elliott,  a  young 
Missourian,  who  for  ten  years  had  been  rambling  through  New 
Mexico  and  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  latter  had  been  one  of 
Tiieut.  Beale's  men  on  the  Gila,  and  the  many  perils  they  then 
shared  gave  their  present  meeting  a  peculiar  interest.  Elliott, 
who,  young  as  he  was,  had  imdergone  everything  that  could  harden 
and  toughen  a  man  out  of  all  sensibility,  colored  like  a  young  girl ; 
his  eyes  were  wet  and  he  scarcely  found  voice  to  speak.  I  had 
many  opportunities  of  seeing  him  afterwards  and  appreciating  his 
tborongh  nobleness  and  sincerity  of  character. 

Mr.  Raney,  who  had  just  established  a  line  of  conveyance  to 
the  Mokelumne,  kindly  ofFered  to  accompany  us  as  far  as  his 
ranche  on  the  Calaveras  River,  twenty-four  miles  distant  Wf 
started  at  four  o'clock,  when  a  pleasant  breeze  had  sprung  up 


80  ELDORADO. 

and  rode  on  over  the  level  plain,  through  beautiful  groves  of  oak 
The  trail  was  crossed  by  deep,  dry  arroyos,  which,  in  th(  rainj 
season,  make  the  country  almost  impassable  ;  now,  however,  the 
very  beds  of  the  tule  marshes  were  beginning  to  dry  up  The  ai/ 
was  thicker  than  evei  with  the  smoke  of  burning  tule,  and  as  we 
journeyed  along  in  the  hazy  moonlight,  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
mountains  were  not  visible  till  we  reached  Mr.  Raney's  ranche, 
which  lies  at  their  base.  We  gave  our  tired  mules  a  good  feed  of 
barley,  and,  after  an  excellent  supper  which  he  had  prepared,  be- 
took ourselves  to  rest.  The  tent  was  made  of  saplings,  roofed 
with  canvas,  but  had  cost  $1,000  ;  the  plain  all  around  was 
covered  deep  with  dust,  which  the  passing  trains  of  mules  kept 
constantly  m  the  air.  Nevertheless,  for  the  first  time  in  several 
days,  we  slept  in  a  bed — the  bed  of  Calaveras  River,  and  in  the 
deepest  hollow  of  its  gold-besprinkled  sands.  The  stream,  which 
in  the  spring  is  thirty  feet  deep,  was  perfectly  dry,  and  the  timber 
on  its  banks  made  a  roof  far  above,  which  shut  out  the  wind  and 
sand,  but  let  in  the  starlight.  Heaping  the  loose  gravel  for  pil- 
lows, we  enjoyed  a  delightful  sleep,  interrupted  only  once  by  the 
howling  of  a  large  gray  wolf,  prowling  in  the  thickets  over  us. 

While  waiting  for  breakfast,  I  saw  a  curious  exemplificatii>n  of 
the  careless  habits  of  the  miners,  in  regard  to  money.  On»:  of 
the  mule-drivers  wanted  to  buy  a  pistol  which  belonged  to  an- 
other, and  as  the  article  was  in  reality  worth  next  to  nothing, 
offered  him  three  dollars  for  it.  "I  will  sell  nothing  for  suoh  a 
beggarly  sum,"  said  the  owner:  "  you  are  welcome  to  take  the 
pistol."  The  other  took  it,  but  laid  the  three  dollars  on  a  log,  say- 
ing :  "  you  must  take  it,  for  I  shall  never  touch  it  again."  "  Well," 
was  the  reply,  "  then  I'll  do  what  I  please  with  it ;"  and  he  flung 
the  dollars  into  the  road  and  walked  away.     An  Irishman  who 


FIERY    TRAVEL THE   MULE's    HEART.  81 

stood  by,  raked  in  the  dust  for  some  time,  but  only  rejjvered 
about  half  the  money. 

Leaving  the  ranche  soon  after  sunrise,  we  entered  the  hills. 
The  country  was  dotted  with  picturesque  clumps  of  oak,  and,  aa 
ths  ground  became  higher  and  more  broken,  with  pines  of  splen 
did  growth.  Around  their  feet  were  scattered  piles  of  immense 
cones,  which  had  been  broken  up  for  the  sake  of  the  spicy  kernels 
they  contain.  TraUs  of  deer  could  be  seen  on  all  the  hills,  lead- 
ing down  to  chance  green  spots  in  the  hollows,  which  a  month  since 
furnished  water.  Now,  however,  the  ground  was  parched  as  in  a 
furnace  ;  the  vegetation  snapped  like  glass  under  the  hoofs  of  our 
mules,  and  the  cracks  and  seams  in  the  arid  soil  seemed  to  give 
out  an  intense  heat  from  some  subterranean  fire.  In  the  glena 
and  canadas,  where  the  little  ah-  stirring  was  vmt  oflf,  the  mercury 
rose  to  110°  ;  perspiration  was  dried  as  soon  as  formed,  and  1 
began  to  thiok  I  should  soon  be  done  to  a  tui-n. 

After  traveling  about  fourteen  miles,  we  were  joined  by  three 
miners,  and  our  mules,  taking  a  sudden  liking  for  their  horses, 
jogged  on  at  a  more  brisk  rate.  The  instincts  of  the  mulish  heart 
form  an  interesting  study  to  the  traveler  in  the  mountains.  I 
would,  were  the  comparison  not  too  ungaUant,  liken  it  to  a  wo- 
man's, for  it  is  quite  as  uncertain  in  its  sympathies,  bestowing  its 
affections  where  least  expected,  and  when  bestowed,  quite  as  con- 
stant, so  long  as  the  object  is  not  taken  away  Sometimes  a  horse, 
Bomettmes  an  ass,  captivates  the  fancy  of  a  whole  drove  of  mules ; 
but  often  an  animal  nowise  akin.  Lieut.  Bcale  told  me  that  his 
whole  train  of  mules  once  took  a  stampede  on  the  plains  of  the 
Cimarone,  and  ran  half  a  mile,  when  they  halted  in  apparent  satis 
faction.     The  cause  of  their  freak  was  foimd  to  be  a  buffalo  caJf, 

which  had  strayed  from  the  herd      They  were  frisking  around  il 

4* 


82  ELDORADO. 

in  the  greatest  delight,  rubhing  their  noses  against  it,  throwing  u) 
their  heels  and  making  themselves  ridiculous  bj  abortive  attempts 
to  neigh  and  bray,  while  the  poor  calf,  unconscious  of  its  attractive 
qualities,  stood  trembling  in  their  midst.  It  is  customary  to 
have  a  horse  in  the  atajos,  or  mule-trains,  of  the  traders  in 
Northern  Mexico,  as  a  sort  of  magnet  to  keep  together  the  separate 
atoms  of  the  train,  for,  whatever  Jhe  temptation,  they  will  never 
stray  &r  from  him. 

We  turned  from  the  main  road,  which  led  to  the  Upper  Bar 
»nd  took  a  faint  trail  leading  over  the  hills  to  the  Lower  Bar. 
The  winding  canon  up  which  we  passed  must  be  a  paradise  in 
Spring ;  even  at  the  close  of  August  the  dry  bed  of  the  stream 
was  shaded  by  trees  of  every  picturesque  form  that  a  painter 
could  desire.  Crossing  several  steep  spurs,  we  reached  the  top  of 
the  divide  overlooking  the  Mokelumne  Valley,  and  here  one  of 
the  most  charming  mountain  landscapes  in  the  world  opened  to 
our  view.  Under  our  very  feet,  as  it  seemed,  flowed  the  river, 
*nd  a  little  comer  of  level  bottom,  wedged  between  the  bases  of 
the  hills,  was  dotted  with  the  tents  of  the  gold-hunters,  whom  we 
could  see  burrowing  along  the  water.  The  mountains,  range 
behind  range,  spotted  with  timber,  made  a  grand,  indistinct 
background  in  the  smoky  air, — a  large,  fortress-like  butte,  toward 
the  Cosumne  River,  the  most  prominent  of  all.  Had  the  atmos- 
phere been  clearer,  the  snowy  crown  of  the  Nevada,  beyond  all, 
•rould  have  made  the  picture  equal  to  any  in  Tyrol. 

Coming  down  the  almost  perpendicular  side  of  the  hill,  my 
■addle  began  to  slip  over  the  mule's  straight  shoulders,  and,  di»- 
nounting,  I  waded  the  rest  of  the  way  knee-deep  in  dust.  Neai 
the  bottom  we  came  upon  the  Sonorian  Town,  as  it  was  called, 
from  the  number  of  Mexican  miners  encamped  there.     The  plaoe 


ARRIVAL    AT    THE    DIGGINGS.  83 

which  was  a  regularly  laid-out  town  of  sapling  houses,  without 
walls  and  roofed  with  loose  oak  boughs,  had  sprung  up  in  the 
wilderness  in  three  weeks  :  there  were  probably  three  hundred 
persons  living  in  or  near  it.  Under  the  open  canopies  of  oak  we 
heard,  as  we  passed  along,  the  jingle  of  coin  at  the  monte  tablep, 
and  saw  crowds  gathered  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  game. 
One  of  the  first  men  Lieutenant  Beale  saw  was  Baptiste  Perrot, 
a  mountaineer  who  had  been  in  his  overland  party.  He  kept  a 
hotel,  which  was  an  open  space  under  a  branch  roof ;  the 
appliances  were  two  tables  of  rough  plank,  (one  for  meals  and 
one  for  monte,)  with  logs  resting  on  forked  limbs  as  seats,  and  a 
bar  of  similar  materials,  behind  which  was  ranged  a  goodly  stoci 
of  liquors  and  preserved  previsions.  We  tethered  our  mules  to  • 
Btiunp  in  the  rear  of  the  hotel,  hast^ened  supper,  and  isi^d  oui 
selves  entirely  at  home. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    DIGGINGS    ON    MOKELUMNE    RIVER. 

Our  first  move  was  for  the  river  bottom,  where  a  number  of 
Ajncricans,  Sonorians,  Kanakas  and  French  were  at  work  in  the 
hot  sun.  The  bar,  as.  it  was  called,  was  nothing  more  nor  lese 
than  a  level  space  at  the  junction  of  the  river  with  a  dry  arroy« 
or  "  gulch,''  which  winds  for  about  eight  miles  among  the  hilk 
It  was  hard  and  rocky,  with  no  loose  sand  except  such  as  had 
lodged  between  the  large  masses  of  stone,  which  must  of  course  be 
thrown  aside  to  get  at  the  gold.  The  whole  space,  containing 
about  four  acres,  appeared  to  have  been  turned  over  with  great 
labor,  and  all  the  holes  slanting  down  between  the  broken  strata 
of  slate,  to  have  been  explored  to  the  bottom.  No  spot  could  ap- 
pear more  unpromising  to  the  inexperienced  gold-hunter.  Yet 
the  Sonorians,  washing  out  the  loose  dust  and  dirt  which  they 
scraped  up  among  the  rocks,  obtained  from  $10  to  two  ounces 
daily.  The  first  party  we  saw  had  just  succeeded  in  cutting  a 
new  channel  for  the  shrunken  waters  of  the  Mokelumne,  an  1  were 
commencing  operations  on  about  twenty  yards  of  the  river-bed, 
which  they  had  laid  bare.  They  were  ten  in  number,  and  theii 
only  implements  were  shovels,  a  rude  cradle  for  the  top  layer  of 
earth,  and  flat  wooden  bowls  for  washing  out  the  sands.     Bap 


GOLD    IN    THE    RIVER-BED.  86 

dste  took  one  of  .he  bowls  which  was  full  of  sand,  and  in  fire 
minutei  showed  us  a  dozen  grains  of  bright  gold.  The  company 
had  made  in  the  forenoon  about  three  pounds  ;  we  watched  them 
at  their  work  till  the  evening,  when  three  pounds  more  wart 
produced,  making  an  average  of  seven  ounces  for  each  man.  Tht 
gold  was  of  the  purest  quality  and  most  beautiful  color.  When  1 
fiist  saw  the  men,  carrying  heavy  stones  in  the  sun,  standing  nearlj 
waist-deep  in  water,  and  grubbing  with  their  hands  in  the  grave] 
and  slay,  there  seemed  to  me  little  virtue  in  resisting  the  tempta- 
tion to  gold  digging  ;  but  when  the  shining  particles  were  poured 
out  lavishly  from  a  tin  basin,  I  confess  there  was  a  sudden  itching 
in  my  fingers  to  seize  the  heaviest  crowbar  and  the  biggest  shovel. 

A  company  of  thirty,  somewhat  further  down  the  river,  had 
made  a  much  larger  dam,  after  a  month's  labor,  and  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  bed  were  clear.  They  commenced  washing  in  the 
afternoon  and  obtained  a  very  encouraging  result.  The  next 
morning,  however,  they  quarreled,  as  most  companies  do,  and 
finally  applied  to  Mr.  James  and  Dr.  Gillette,  two  of  the  prin- 
cipal operators,  to  settle  the  difficulty  by  having  the  whole  bed 
washed  out  at  their  own  expense  and  taking  half  the  gold.  As 
all  the  heavy  work  was  done,  the  contractors  expected  to  make  a 
considerable  sum  by  the  operation.  Many  of  the  Americans  em- 
ployed Sonorians  and  Indians  to  work  for  them,  giving  them  half 
the  gold  and  finding  them  in  provisions.  Notwithstanding  the 
enormous  prices  of  every  article  of  food,  these  people  could  be 
kept  for  about  a  doDar  daily — consequently  those  who  hire  them 
profited  handsomely. 

After  we  had  taken  the  sharp  edge  off  our  curiosity,  we  re- 
turned to  our  quarters.  Dr.  Gillette,  Mr.  James,  Captain  Tracy 
and  sevei-al  other  of  the  miners  entertained  us  with  a  hospitalitf 


86  ELDORADO. 

a8  gratifying  as  it  was  unexpected.  In  the  evening  we  sat  dowt 
to  a  supper  prepared  by  Baptiste  and  his  partner,  Mr,  Fisher, 
which  completed  my  astonishment  at  the  resourceb  of  tliat  won- 
derful land.  There,  in  the  rough  depth  of  the  hills,  where  three 
weeks  before  there  was  scarcely  a  tent,  and  where  we  expected  to 
Kve  on  jerked  beef  and  bread,  we  saw  on  the  table  green  com, 
green  peas  and  beans,  fresh  oysters,  roast  turkey,  fine  Goshen 
butter  and  excellent  coffee.  I  will  not  pretend  to  say  what  they 
eost,  but  I  began  to  think  that  the  fable  of  Aladdin  was  nothing 
very  remarkable,  after  all.  The  genie  will  come,  and  had  come 
to  many  whom  I  saw  in  California  ;  but  the  rubbing  of  the  lamp 
—aye,  there's  the  rub.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  hard  on 
the  hands. 

I  slept  soundly  that  night  on  the  dining-table,  and  went  down 
early  to  the  river,  where  I  found  the  party  of  ten  bailing  out  the 
water  which  had  leaked  into  the  river-bed  during  the  night, 
They  were  standing  in  the  sun,  and  had  two  hours'  hard  work  be- 
fore they  could  begin  to  wash.  Again  the  prospect  looked  unin- 
viting, but  when  I  went  there  again  towards  noon,  one  of  them 
was  scraping  up  the  sand  from  the  bed  with  his  knife,  and  throw- 
ing it  into  a  basin,  the  bottom  of  which  glittered  with  gold. 
Every  knifeful  brought  out  a  quantity  of  grains  and  scales,  some 
of  which  were  as  large  as  the  finger-nail.  At  last  a  two-ounce 
lump  fell  plump  into  the  pan,  and  the  diggers,  now  in  the  besi 
possible  humor,  went  on  with  their  work  with  great  alacrity. 
Their  forenoon's  digging  amounted  to  nearly  six  pounds.  It  in 
only  by  such  operations  as  these,  through  associated  labor,  that 
great  profits  are  to  be  made  in  those  districts  which  have  been 
visited  by  the  first  eager  horde  of  gold  hunters.  The  deposits 
most  easily  reached  are  so(^n  exhaii.sted  by  the   crowd,  and  tb^ 


THK    80N0RIAN8.  8t 

labor  required  to  carry  on  further  work  successfully  deters  singlft 
individuals  from  attempting  it  Those  who,  retaining  theii 
health,  return  home  disappointed,  say  they  have  been  humbugged 
about  the  gold,  when  in  fact,  they  have  humbugged  themselves 
about  the  work.  If  any  one  expects  to  dig  treasures  out  of  the 
earth,  in  California,  without  severe  labor,  he  is  wofully  mistaken 
Of  all  classes  of  men,  those  who  pave  streets  and  quarry  limestone 
are  best  adapted  for  gold  diggers. 

Wherever  there  is  gold,  there  are  gamblers.  Our  little  village 
boasted  of  at  least  a  dozen  monte  tables,  all  of  which  were  fre- 
quented at  night  by  the  Americans  and  Mexicans.  The  Sono- 
rians  left  a  large  portion  of  their  gold  at  the  gaming  tables, 
thouf^h  it  was  calculated  they  had  taken  $5,000,000  out  of  the 
country  during  the  summer.  The  excitement  against  them  pre- 
vailed also  on  the  Mokelumne,  and  they  were  once  driven  away ; 
they  afterwards  quietly  returned,  and  in  most  cases  worked  in 
companies,  for  the  benefit  and  under  the  protection  of  some 
American.  They  labor  steadily  and  faithfully,  and  are  considered 
honest,  if  well  watched.  The  first  colony  of  gold-hunters  at- 
tempted to  drive  out  all  foreigners,  without  distinction,  as  well  as 
native  Californians.  Don  Andres  r*ico,  who  was  located  on  the 
same  river,  had  some  difficulty  with  them  until  they  could  be 
made  to  understand  that  his  right  as  a  citizen  was  equal  to  theirs 

Dr.  Gillette,  to  whom  we  were  indebted  for  many  kind  atten- 
tions, related  to  me  the  manner  of  his  finding  the  rich  gulch 
which  attracted  so  many  to  the  Mokelumne  Diggings.  The  word 
gulck,  which  is  in  general  use  throughout  the  diggings,  may  not 
De  familiar  to  many  ears,  though  its  sound  somehow  expresses  its 
meaning,  without  further  definition.  It  denotes  a  mountain  ravine 
iiflTering  from  ravines  elsewhere  as  the  mountains  of  California 


ELDORAnO. 


differ  from  all  others — more  steep,  abrupt  and  inaccessible.  The 
sound  of  gidch  is  like  that  of  a  sudden  plunge  into  a  deep  hole 
which  is  just  the  character  of  the  thing  itself.  It  bears  the  same 
relation  to  a  ravine  that  a  "  ca&on"  does  to  a  pass  or  gorge. 
About  two  months  previous  to  our  arrival,  Dr.  Gillette  camn 
down  from  the  Upper  Bar  with  a  companion,  to  "  prospect"  for 
gold  among  the  ravines  in  the  neighborhood.  There  were  no 
persons  there  at  the  time,  except  some  Indians  belonging  to  the 
tribe  of  Jose  Jesus.  One  day  at  noon,  while  resting  in  the  shade 
of  a  tree,  Dr.  G.  took  a  pick  and  began  carelessly  turning  up  the 
ground.  Almost  on  the  surface,  he  struck  and  threw  out  a  lump 
of  gold  of  about  two  pounds  weight.  Inspired  by  this  unexpected 
result,  they  both  went  to  work,  laboring  all  that  day  and  the  next, 
and  even  using  part  of  the  night  to  quarry  out  the  heavy  pieces 
of  rock.  At  the  end  of  the  second  day  they  went  to  the  village 
on  the  Upper  Bar  and  weighed  their  profits,  which  amounted  to 
fourteen  pounds  !  They  started  again  the  third  morning  under 
pretence  of  hunting,  but  were  suspected  and  followed  by  the  other 
diggei'S,  who  came  upon  them  just  as  they  commenced  work. 
The  news  rapidly  spread,  and  there  was  soon  a  large  number  of 
men  on  the  spot,  some  of  whom  obtained  several  pounds  per 
day,  at  the  start.  The  gulch  had  been  well  dug  up  for  the  large 
lumps,  but  there  was  still  great  wealth  in  the  earth  and  sand,  and 
several  operators  only  waited  for  the  wet  season  to  work  it  in  • 
systematic  manner. 

The  next  day  Col.  Lyons,  Dr.  Gillette  and  myself  set  out  on  a 
visdt  to  the  scene  of  these  rich  discoveries.  Climbing  up  the 
rocky  bottom  of  the  gulch,  as  by  a  staircase,  for  four  miles,  we 
found  nearly  every  part  of  it  dug  up  and  turned  over  by  the 
picks  of  the  miners.     Deep  holes,  sunk  between  the  sclil  strat* 


THE    PROCESS   OF   DRT-WASHIITO.  W 

or  into  the  precipitotis  sides  of  the  mountains,  showed  •where  reinfl 
of  tht  metal  had  been  struck  and  followed  as  long  as  they  yielded 
lumps  large  enough  to  pay  for  the  labor.  The  loose  earth,  which 
they  had  excavated,  was  fuU  of  fine  gold,  and  only  needed  washing 
out.  A  number  of  Sonorians  were  engaged  in  dry  washing  this 
refuse  sand — a  work  which  requires  no  little  skiU,  and  would  soon 
kill  any  other  men  than  these  lank  and  skinny  Arabs  of  the  West 
Their  mode  of  work  is  as  follows  : — Gathering  the  loose  dry  sand 
in  bowlSj  they  raise  it  to  their  heads  and  slowly  pour  it  upon  a 
blanket  spread  at  their  feet.  Repeating  this  several  times,  and 
throwing  out  the  worthless  pieces  of  rock,  they  reduce  the  dust  to 
about  half  its  bulk ;  then,  balancing  the  bowl  on  one  hand,  by 
a  quick,  dexterous  motion  of  the  other  they  cause  it  to  revolve, 
at  the  same  time  throwing  its  contents  into  the  air  and  catching 
them  as  they  fall.  In  this  manner  everything  is  finally  winnowed 
away  except  the  heavier  grains  of  sand  mixed  with  gold,  which  is 
carefully  separated  by  the  breath.  It  is  a  laborious  occupation, 
and  one  which,  fortunately,  the  American  diggers  have  not  at- 
tempted. This  breathing  the  fine  dust  from  day  to  day,  under  a 
more  than  torrid  sun,  would  soon  impair  the  strongest  Imigs. 

We  found  many  persons  at  work  in  the  higher  part  of  the  gulch, 
searching  for  veins  and  pockets  of  gold,  in  the  holes  which  had 
already  produced  their  first  harvest.  Some  of  these  gleaners, 
following  the  lodes  abandoned  by  others  as  exhausted,  into  the 
sides  of  the  mountain,  were  well  repaid  for  their  perseverance. 
Others,  again,  had  been  working  for  days  without  finding  anything. 
Those  who  understood  the  business  obtained  from  one  to  fom 
outces  daily.  Their  only  tools  were  the  crowbar,  fick  and  knife^ 
and  many  of  them,  following  the  veins  under  strata  of  rock  which 
lay  deep  below  the  surface,  were  obliged  to  work  while  lying  flal 


93  fitc^  tLAtoo 

hard  work  gave  him  enough  to  start  on,  and  two  months,  with  the 
nsoal  luck,  quite  reinstated  him. 

The  largest  piece  foimd  in  the  rich  gulch  weighed  eleven 
ponnds.  Mr.  James,  who  had  been  on  the  river  since  April, 
showed  me  a  lump  weighing  sixty-two  ounces — pure,  unadul- 
ieiated  gold.  We  had  a  visit  one  day  from  Don  Andres  Pico 
commander  of  the  California  forces  during  the  war.  He  had  a 
company  of  men  digging  at  the  Middle  Bar,  about  a  mile  above. 
He  is  an  urbane,  intelligent  man,  of  medium  stature,  and  of  a 
natural  gentility  of  character  which  made  him  quite  popular  among 
the  emigrants. 

From  all  I  saw  and  heard,  while  at  the  Mokelumne  Diggings,  I 
judged  there  was  as  much  order  and  security  as  could  be  attained 
without  a  civil  organization.  The  inhabitants  had  elected  one  of 
their  own  number  A.lcalde,  before  whom  all  ctdprits  were  tried  by 
a  jury  selected  for  the  purpose.  Several  thefts  had  occurred,  and 
the  offending  parties  been  sev^erely  pimished  after  a  fair  trial 
Some  had  been  whipped  and  cropped,  or  maimed  in  some  other 
way,  and  one  or  two  ot  them  hung.  Two  or  three  who  had 
stolen  largely  had  beeo  shot  down  by  the  injured  party,  the  gen- 
eral feeling  among  the  mint/rf  jusiilying  such  a  course  when  no 
other  seemed  available.  We  xaet  near  Livcrmore's  Ranche,  on 
the  way  to  Stockton,  a  man  ^hoije  head  had  been  shaved  and  his 
ears  cut  off,  after  receiving  one  hundred  lashes,  for  stealing  ninety- 
eight  pounds  of  gold.  It  may  conflict  with  popular  ideas  of  mo- 
rality, but,  nevertheless,  this  extreme  courtse  appeared  to  have 
produced  good  results.  In  fact,  in  a  countiy  without  not  only 
bolts  and  bars,  but  any  effective  system  of  law  and  government, 
this  Spartan  severity  of  discipline  seemed  the  only  security  against 
the  most  frightful  disorder.     The  result  was  that,  except  some  pott) 


COST    OF   OUR   VISIT.  98 

ftots  of  larceny,  thefts  were  rare.  Horses  and  mnles  were  some- 
times taken,  but  the  risk  was  so  great  that  such  plunder  could  not 
be  carried  on  to  any  extent.  The  camp  or  tent  was  held  invio- 
late, and  like  the  patriarchal  times  if  old,  its  cover  protected  all 
it  enclosed.  Among  all  well-disposed  persons  there  was  a  tacit 
tlLsposition  to  make  the  canvas  or  pavilion  of  rough  oak-boughs  a» 
sacred  as  once  were  the  portals  of  a  church. 

Our  stay  was  delayed  a  day  by  the  illness  of  Lieut.  Beale,  who 
had  been  poisoned  a  few  days  previous  by  contact  with  the  rhut 
toxicodcTidronj  which  is  very  common  in  California.  His  impa- 
tience to  reach  San  Francisco  waa  so  great  that  on  Saturday  after- 
coon  we  got  ready  to  return  to  Stockton.  Our  bill  at  the  hotei 
R-as  $  11  a  day  for  man  and  mule — $4  for  the  man  and  $7  for  the 
mule.  This  did  not  include  lodgings,  which  each  traveler  was  ex. 
pected  to  furnish  for  himself.  Some  slight  medical  attendance, 
famished  to  Lieut.  Beale,  was  valued  at  $48.  The  high  price 
of  mule-keep  was  owing  to  the  fact  of  barley  being  $1  per  quart 
and  grass  $1  per  handful.  Dr.  Gillette  took  a  lame  horse  which 
had  just  come  down  from  a  month's  travel  among  the  snowy 
ridges,  where  his  rider  had  been  shot  with  an  Indian  arrow,  and 
set  out  to  accompany  us  as  far  as  Stockton.  One  of  our  mules, 
which  was  borrowed  for  the  occasion  at  Raney's  Ranche,  had 
been  reclaimed  by  its  owner,  and  I  was  thus  reduced  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  footing  it.  In  this  order,  we  left  the  town  just  before 
sanset,  and  took  a  mule  -path  leading  up  the  steep  asoeDt 


92  ItLC^  HJitiO 

bard  work  gave  him  enough  to  start  on,  and  two  months,  with  the 
usual  luck,  quite  reinstated  him. 

The  largest  piece  found  in  the  rich  gulch  weighed  elerei 
pounds.  Mr.  James,  who  had  been  on  the  river  since  April, 
showed  me  a  lump  weighing  sixty-two  ounces — pure,  unadul* 
ieiated  gold.  We  had  a  visit  one  day  from  Don  Andres  Pico 
commander  of  the  California  forces  during  the  war.  He  had  a 
company  of  men  digging  at  the  Middle  Bar,  about  a  mile  above. 
He  is  an  urbane,  intelligent  man,  of  medium  stature,  and  of  a 
natural  gentility  of  character  which  made  him  quite  popular  among 
the  emigrants. 

From  all  I  saw  and  heard,  while  at  the  Mokelumne  Diggings,  I 
judged  there  was  as  much  order  and  security  as  could  be  attained 
without  a  civil  organization.  The  inhabitants  had  elected  one  of 
their  own  number  A.lcalde,  before  whom  all  culprits  were  tried  by 
ft  jury  selected  for  the  purpose.  Several  thefts  had  occurred,  and 
the  offending  parties  been  severely  punished  after  a  fair  trial 
Some  had  been  whippod  and  cropped,  or  maimed  in  some  other 
way,  and  one  or  two  ot  them  hung.  Two  or  three  who  had 
stolen  largely  had  beea  shot  down  by  the  injured  party,  the  gen- 
eral feeling  among  the  mj'nt/rf  justilying  such  a  course  when  no 
other  seemed  available.  We  xnet  near  Livcrmore's  Ranche,  on 
the  way  to  Stockton,  a  man  ^hose  head  had  been  shaved  and  his 
ears  cut  off,  after  receiving  one  hundred  lashes,  for  stealing  ninety- 
eight  pounds  of  gold.  It  may  conflict  with  popular  ideas  of  mo- 
rality, but,  nevertheless,  this  extreme  course  appeared  to  have 
produced  good  results.  In  fact,  in  a  countiy  without  not  only 
bolts  and  bars,  but  any  effective  system  of  law  and  government, 
this  Spartan  severity  of  discipline  seemed  the  only  security  againsi 
the  most  fiightful  disorder.     The  result  was  that,  except  some  pott) 


COST   OF   OUR   TISIT.  93 

ftots  of  larceny,  thefts  were  rare.  Horses  and  moles  vrere  some* 
tunes  taken,  but  the  risk  was  so  great  that  such  plunder  could  not 
be  carried  on  to  any  extent.  The  camp  or  tent  was  held  invio- 
late, and  like  the  patriarchal  times  tf  old,  its  cover  protected  all 
it  enclosed.  Among  all  well-disposed  persons  there  was  a  tacit 
disposition  to  make  the  canvas  or  pavilion  of  rough  oak-boughs  a» 
sacred  as  once  were  the  portals  of  a  church. 

Our  stay  was  delayed  a  day  by  the  illness  of  Lieut,  Beale,  who 
had  been  poisoned  a  few  days  previous  by  contact  with  the  rkut 
toxicodendron  J  which  is  very  common  in  California.  His  impar 
tience  to  reach  San  Francisco  was  so  great  that  on  Saturday  after- 
coou  we  got  ready  to  return  to  Stockton.  Our  biU  at  the  hotej 
«vas  $11  a  day  for  man  and  mule — $4  for  the  man  and  $7  for  the 
mule.  This  did  not  include  lodgings,  which  each  traveler  was  ex- 
pected to  furnish  for  himself.  Some  slight  medical  attendance, 
furnished  to  Lieut.  Beale,  was  valued  at  $48.  The  high  price 
of  mule-keep  was  owing  to  the  fact  of  barley  being  $1  per  quart 
and  grass  $1  per  handful.  Dr.  Gillette  took  a  lame  horse  which 
had  just  come  down  from  a  month's  travel  among  the  snowy 
ridges,  where  his  rider  had  been  shot  with  an  Indian  arrow,  and 
set  out  to  accompany  us  as  far  as  Stockton.  One  of  our  mules, 
which  was  borrowed  for  the  occasion  at  Raney's  Ranche,  had 
been  reclaimed  by  its  owner,  and  I  was  thus  reduced  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  footing  it.  In  this  order,  we  left  the  town  just  bofor« 
sunset,  and  took  a  mule  -path  leading  up  the  steep  ascent. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A      GALLOP     TO      STOCKTON,      WITH      SOME      WORDS      ON      LAW      AND 

SOCIETY. 

Instead  of  retracing  our  steps  througli  the  fiery  depth  of  the 
caflon,  we  turned  off  eastward  through  a  gap  in  the  hills  and  took 
a  road  leading  to  the  Double  Spring.  The  doctor  insisted  on  my 
mounting  behind  him  on  the  limping  horse,  and  we  had  an  odd 
ride  of  it,  among  the  dusky  glens  and  hollows.  At  the  Double 
Spring,  where  a  large  tent  was  pitched,  three  of  us  were  furnished 
with  supper,  at  a  cost  of  $11 — not  an  exorbitant  price,  if  our  ap- 
petites were  considered.  It  was  decided  to  push  on  the  same 
night  to  another  ranche,  seven  mUes  distant,  and  I  started  in  ad- 
vance, on  foot.  The  road  passed  between  low  hills,  covered  with 
patches  of  chapparal,  the  usual  haunt  of  grizzly  bears.  I  looked 
sharply  at  every  bush,  in  the  dim  moonlight ;  my  apprehensions 
were  a  little  raised  by  the  thought  of  a  miner  whom  I  had  seen  one 
evening  come  down  to  the  Mokelumne,  pale  as  a  sheet,  after  hav- 
ing been  chased  some  distance  by  a  huge  she-bear,  and  by  the 
Btcry  told  me  at  the  Double  Spring,  of  the  bones  of  two  men 
picked  clean,  having  been  found  on  the  road  I  was  traveling.  I 
mis  not  sorry,  therefore,  to  hear  the  halting  tramp  of  the  doctor's 
borne   behind  me  ;   the   others   came   up  after   awhile,  and  wc 


APPROPRIATING    A    HORSE.  98 

reaehcd  the  tent  The  landlord  lay  asleep  in  one  comer ;  wfl 
tied  our  animals  to  a  tree,  made  one  bed  in  common  against  th€ 
side  of  the  tent,  and  were  soon  locked  in  sound  repose. 

Lieut.  Beale,  who  was  stiU  unwei  and  anxious  to  hurry  on, 
leoke  us  at  the  peep  of  day,  and  after  giving  a  spare  feed  to  oui 
mnles,  we  took  the  road  again.  As  the  doctor  and  I,  mounted  on 
the  lame  horse,  were  shuffling  along  in  advance,  we  espied  a  ven- 
erable old  animal  before  us,  walking  in  the  same  direction.  The 
doctor  slipped  off  the  bridle,  ran  forward  and  caught  him  without 
any  difficulty.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  camp  to  be  seen,  and 
we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  horse  was  an  estray,  and  we 
might  therefore  lawfully  make  use  of  him.  He  was  the  most  gro 
tesque  specimen  of  horseflesh  I  ever  saw — ^lame  like  our  own — 
and  with  his  forehead  broken  in  above  the  eyes,  which  did  not 
prevent  his  having  a  nose  of  most  extraordinary  length  and  pro- 
minence. The  doctor  bridled  him  and  mounted,  leaving  me  hifi 
own  horse  and  saddle,  so  that  we  were  about  equally  provided. 
By  dint  of  shouting  and  kicking  we  kept  the  beasts  in  a  sort  of 
shambling  gallop  till  we  reached  Eaney's  Ranche,  where  the  doctor 
took  the  precaution  of  removing  the  bridle  and  letting  the  horse 
stand  loose  ;  the  custom  of  the  miners  being,  to  shoot  a  man  who 
puts  his  gear  on  your  horse  and  rides  him  without  leave. 

As  it  happened,  the  precaution  was  not  ill-timed  ;  for,  whili 
we  lay  inside  the  tent  on  a  couple  of  benches,  we  heard  &n  ex 
uiamation  from  some  one  outside.  "  There  you  are  !"  said  thi 
voice  ;  "  what  do  you  mean,  you  old  rascal  r  how  came  you  here 
you  know  you  never  left  me  before,  you  know  you  did  n't  !"•— 
Then,  turning  to  the  tent-keeper,  who  was  standing  by  the  cook- 
ing-fire, he  enquired  :  "  how  did  that  horse  get  here  .'"  "  Why,' 
answered  the  former,  with  a  slight  variation  of  the  truth,  '  he  wat 


96  CLUOKADO. 

driven  in  this  mommg  by  some  men  who  found  him  Ji  the  road, 
about  three  miles  from  here.  The  men  have  gone  on  to  Stockton, 
but  left  him,  thinking  he  might  have  an  owner  somewhere,  though 
he  ion't  look  like  it."  "  Three  miles  !"  ejaculated  the  voice : 
'•  i  was  six  miles  from  here,  where  I  camped,  and  the  horse  never 
Ijft  mc  before  ;  you  know  you  did  n't,  you  rascal !"  Then,  coming 
into  the  tent,  he  repeated  the  whole  story  to  us,  who  marvelled 
exceedingly  that  the  horse  should  have  left.  "  He  does  n't  loot 
to  be  much,"  added  the  man,  "  but  I've  had  him  two  years  among 
the  mountains,  and  never  saw  sich  anoiner  wonderful  knuwin' 
animal." 

Sergeant  Falls,  who  owned  a  ranche  in  the  neighborhood,  cam*, 
along  shortly  after  with  a  caballada  which  he  was  driving  into 
Stockton.  The  day  was  hot,  but  a  fine  breeze  blew  over  the  hazj 
plain  and  rustled  the  groves  of  oak  as  we  went  past  them  on  a 
sweeping  gallop,  which  was  scarcely  broken  during  the  whole  ride 
of  twenty-five  miles.  No  exercise  in  the  world  is  so  exciting  and 
inspiring  as  the  traveling  gait  or  "  lope"  of  the  Californian  horse 
I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  but  the  rocking  motion  of  a  boat  over 
a  light  sea.  There  is  no  jar  or  jolt  in  the  saddle  ;  the  rider  sits 
lightly  and  securely,  while  the  horse,  obeying  the  slightest  touch 
of  the  rein,  carries  him  forward  for  hours  without  slackening  his 
bounding  speed.  Up  and  down  the  steep  sides  of  an  arroyo — over 
the  shouldyr  of  a  mountain,  or  through  the  flinty  bed  of  some  dry 
take  or  river — it  is  all  the  same.  One's  blood  leaps  merrily  along 
his  ^eins,  and  the  whole  frame  feels  an  elastic  warmth  which  ex- 
quisitely fits  it  to  receive  all  sensuous  impressions.  Ah  !  if  horse- 
flesh were  eflfortless  as  the  wind,  indestructible  as  adamant,  what 
motion  of  sea  or  air — what  unwearied  agility  of  fin  or  steady  sweep 
of  wing — could  compare  with  it }    In  the  power  of  thus  speeding 


THE    CALIFORNIAN    HORSE.  97 

onward  al  will,  as  far  as  the  wish  migLt  extend,  one  would  forg^ 
his  desire  to  soar. 

I  saw  at  the  Pueblo  San  Jose  a  splendid  pied  horse  helon^ng 
to  Col.  Fremont — the  gift  of  Don  Pio  Pico — on  which  le  had 
frequently  ridden  to  San  Francisco,  a  distance  of  fifty-five  miles, 
within  seven  hours.  When  pushed  to  their  utmost  capacity,  these 
horses  frequently  perform  astonishing  feats.  The  saddles  in  com- 
mon use  difiler  little  from  the  Mexican  ;  the  stirrups  are  set  back, 
obliging  the  rider  to  stand  rather  than  sit,  and  the  seat  corresponds 
more  nearly  to  the  shape  of  the  body  than  the  English  saddle. 
The  horses  are  broken  by  a  halter  of  strong  rope,  which  accustoms 
them  to  be  governed  by  a  mere  touch  of  the  rein.  On  first  at- 
tempting to  check  the  gallop  of  one  which  I  rode,  I  thoughtlessly 
drew  the  rein  as  strongly  as  for  a  hard-mouthed  American  horse. 
The  consequence  was,  he  came  with  one  bound  to  a  dead  stop  and 
I  flew  bolt  upwards  out  of  the  saddle  ;  but  for  its  high  wooden 
horn,  I  should  have  gone  over  his  head. 

At  Raney's  Ranehe,  our  notice  was  attracted  to  the  sad  spec- 
tacle of  a  man,  lying  on  the  river  bank,  wasted  by  disease,  and 
evidently  near  his  end.  He  was  a  member  of  a  company  from 
Massachusetts,  which  had  passed  that  way  three  weeks  before,  not 
only  refusing  to  take  him  further,  but  absolutely  carrying  with 
them  his  share  of  the  stores  they  had  brought  from  home.  This, 
at  least,  was  the  story  told  me  on  the  spot,  but  I  hope  it  was  un 
tine.  The  man  had  lain  there  from  day  to  day,  without  medical 
aid,  and  dependant  on  such  attention  as  the  inmates  of  the  tent 
were  able  to  afford  him.  The  Dr.  left  some  medicines  with  him 
but  it  was  evident  to  all  of  us  that  a  few  days  more  would  termii 
nato  his  sufferings. 

All  the  roads  from  Stockton  to  the  mines  were  filled  with  atajok 

VOL.   I.  5 


98  ELDORADO. 

of  mules,  laden  with  freight.     They  were  mostly  owned  by  Aineri 

cans,  many  of  them  by  former  trappers  and  mountaineers,  but  the 

packers  and  drivers  were  Mexicans,  and  the  aparejos  and  (uforja- 

of  the  mules  were  of  the  same  fashion  as  those  which,  for  three 

hundred  years  past,  have  been  seen  on  the  hills  of  Grrenada  aa<J 

the  Andalusian  plains.     With  good  mule-trains  and  experienced 

packers,  the  business  yielded  as  much  as  the  richest  diggings 

The  placers  and  gulches  of  Mokelumne  as  well  as  Murphy's  Dig 

gings  and  those  on  Carson's  Creek,  are  within  fifty-five  miles  ol 

Stockton ;  the  richest  diggings  on  the  Stanislaus  about  sixty, 

and  on  the  Tuolumne  seventy.     The  price  paid  for  carrying  to 

all  the  nearer  diggings  averaged  30  cents  per  lb.  during  the  sum- 

raer.     A  mule-load  varies  from  one  to  two  hundred  lbs.,  but  the 

experienced  carrier  could  generally  reckon  beforehand  the  expenses 

and  profits  of  his  trip.     The  intense  heat  of  the  season  and  the 

dust  of  the  plains  tended  also  to  wear  out  a  team,  and  the  carriers 

were  often  obliged  to  rest  and  recruit  themselves.     One  of  them, 

who  did  a  good  business  between  Stockton  and  the  Lower  Bar  of 

the  Mokelumne,  told  me  that  his  profits  were  about  $3,000  monthly. 

I  found  Stockton  more  bustling  and  prosperous  than  ever.    The 

limits  of  its  canvas  streets  had  greatly  enlarged  during  my  week 

of  absence,  and  the  crowd  on  the  levee  would  not  disgrace  a  much 

larger  place  at  home.     Launches  were  arriving  and  departing 

daily  for  and  from  San  Francisco,  and  the  number  of  mule-trains, 

wagons,  etc.,  on  their  way  to  the  various  mines  with  freight  and 

■npplies  kept  up  a  life  of  activity  truly  amazing.     Stockton  was 

Srst  laid  out  by  Mr.  Weaver,  who  emigrated  to  the  country  seven 

years  before,  and  obtained  a  grant  of  eleven  square  leagues  from 

the  Government,  on  condition  that  he  would  obtain  settlers  for  the 

whole  of  itwithin  a  specified  time    Tr  planningthe  town  of  Stockton, 


A    FLOGGING    SCENE    IN    STOCKTON  90 

he  displayed  a  great  deal  of  shrewd  business  tact,  the  sale  of  lots 
aaving  brought  him  upwards  of  $500,000.  A  great  disadvantage 
of  the  location  is  the  sloughs  by  which  it  is  surrounded ;  which,  in 
the  wet  season,  render  the  roads  next  to  impassable.  There 
Beems,  however,  to  be  no  other  central  point  so  well  adapted  foi 
mtpplying  the  rich  district  between  the  Mokelumne  and  Tuolumne, 
and  Stockton  will  evidently  continue  to  grow  with  a  sure  and 
gradual  growth. 

I  witnessed,  while  in  the  town,  a  summary  exhibition  of  justice. 
The  night  before  my  arrival,  three  negroes,  while  on  a  drunken 
revel,  entered  the  tent  of  a  Chilian,  and  attempted  to  violate  a 
female  who  was  within.  Defeated  in  their  base  designs  by  her 
husband,  who  was  fortunately  within  call,  they  fired  their  pistols  at 
the  tent  and  left.  Complaint  was  made  before  the  Alcalde,  two 
of  the  negroes  seized  and  identified,  witnesses  examined,  a  jury 
summoned,  and  verdict  given,  without  delay.  The  principal  of- 
fender was  sentenced  to  receive  fifty  lashes  and  the  other  twenty 
— ^both  to  leave  the  place  within  forty-eight  hours  under  pain  of 
death.  The  sentence  was  immediately  carried  into  execution  , 
the  negroes  were  stripped,  tied  to  a  tree  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  principal  street,  and  in  presence  of  the  Alcalde  and  Sherifl 
received  their  punishment.  There  was  little  of  that  order  and 
respect  shown  which  should  accompany  even  the  administration  of 
impromptu  law  ;  the  bystanders  jeered,  laughed,  and  accompanied 
every  blow  with  coarse  and  unfeeling  remarks.  Some  of  the  more 
intelligent  professed  themselves  opposed  to  the  mode  of  punish- 
nent,  but  in  the  absence  of  prisons  or  effective  guards  could  sug- 
gest no  alternative,  except  the  sterner  one  of  capital  punishment. 

The  history  of  law  and  society  in  California,  from  the  period  of 
the  golden  discoveries,  would  furnish  many  instructive  lessons  to 


100  ELDORADO. 

the  phflosopher  and  the  statesman.  The  first  consoquenae  of  the 
unprecedented  rush  of  emigration  from  all  parts  of  the  world  into 
a  country  almost  unknown,  and  but  half  reclaimed  from  its  origi- 
nal barbarism  was  to  render  all  law  virtually  null,  and  bring  the 
established  authorities  to  depend  entirely  on  the  humor  of  tho 
population  for  the  observance  of  their  orders.  The  countries 
which  were  nearest  the  golden  coast — Mexico,  Peru,  Chili,  China 
and  the  Sandwich  Islands — sent  forth  their  thousands  of  ignorant 
adventurers,  who  speedily  outnumbered  the  American  population. 
Another  fact,  which  none  the  less  threatened  serious  consequen- 
ces, was  the  readiness  with  which  the  worthless  and  depraved  class 
of  our  own  country  came  to  the  Pacific  Coast.  From  the  begin- 
ning, a  state  of  things  little  short  of  anarchy  might  have  been 
reasonably  awaited. 

Instead  of  this,  a  disposition  to  maintain  order  and  secure  th 
rights  of  all,  was  shown  throughout  the  mining  districts.  In  the  ab 
sence  of  all  law  or  available  protection,  the  people  met  and  adopteO 
rules  for  their  mutual  security — rules  adapted  to  their  situation 
where  they  had  neither  guards  nor  prisons,  and  where  the  slightest 
license  given  to  crime  or  trespass  of  any  kind  must  inevitably  havt 
led  to  terrible  disorders.  Small  thefts  were  punished  by  banish- 
ment from  the  placers,  whUe  for  those  of  large  amount  or  for 
more  serious  crimes,  there  was  the  single  alternative  of  hanging. 
These  regulations,  with  slight  change,  had  been  continued  up  to 
the  time  of  my  visit  to  the  country.  In  proportion  as  the  emigra- 
tion from  our  own  States  increased,  and  the  digging  community 
assumed  a  more  orderly  and  intelligent  aspect,  their  severity  had 
been  relaxed,  though  punishment  was  still  strictly  administered 
for  all  offences.  There  had  been,  as  nearly  as  I  could  learn,  not 
more  than  twelve  or  fifteen  executions  in  all,  about  half  of  whiob 


LAW    AND    ORDER.  101 

were  inflicted  for  the  crime  of  murder.  This  awful  responsibility 
had  not  been  assumed  lightly,  but  after  a  fair  trial  and  a  full  and 
clear  conviction,  to  which  was  added,  I  believe  in  every  instance, 
the  confession  of  the  criminal. 

In  all  the  large  digging  districts,  which  Lad  been  worked  for 
gome  time,  there  were  established  regulations,  which  were  faith- 
fully observed.  Alcaldes  were  elected,  who  decided  on  all  dis- 
putes of  right  or  complaints  of  trespass,  and  who  had  power  to 
summon  juries  for  criminal  trials.  When  a  new  placer  or  gulch 
was  discovered,  the  first  thing  done  was  to  elect  ofl&cers  and  ex- 
tend the  area  of  order.  The  result  was,  that  in  a  district  five 
hundred  miles  long,  and  inhabited  by  100,000  people,  who  had 
neither  government,  regular  laws,  rules,  military  or  civil  protec- 
tion, nor  even  locks  or  bolts,  and  a  great  part  of  whom  possessed 
wealth  enough  to  tempt  ihe  vicious  and  depraved,  there  was  as 
much  security  to  life  and  property  as  in  any  part  of  the  Union, 
and  as  small  a  proportion  of  crime.  The  capacity  of  a  people  for 
self-government  was  never  so  triimiphantly  illustrated.  Never, 
perhaps,  was  there  a  community  formed  of  more  unpropitious  ele- 
ments ;  yet  from  all  this  seeming  chaos  grew  a  harmony  beyond 
what  the  most  sanguine  apostle  of  Progress  could  have  expected. 

The  nghts  of  the  diggers  were  no  less  definitely  marked  and 
strictly  observed.  Among  the  hundreds  I  saw  on  the  Moke- 
kunne  and  among  the  gulches,  I  did  not  see  a  single  dispute  nor 
Lear  a  word  of  complaint.  A  company  of  men  might  mark  cut  » 
race  of  any  length  and  turn  the  current  of  the  river  to  get  at  the 
bed,  possessing  the  excliisive  right  to  that  part  of  it,  so  long  as 
Iheir  undertaking  lasted.  A  man  might  dig  a  hole  in  tLe  dry 
ravines,  and  so  long  as  he  left  a  shovel,  pick  or  crowbar  to  show 
that  he  still  intended  working  it,  he  was  safe  from  trespass      Ilis 


102  ELDORADO. 

took  might  remain  there  for  months  without  being  listarbed  1 
have  seen  many  such  places,  miles  away  from  any  camp  or  tent, 
which  the  digger  had  left  in  perfect  confidence  Ihat  he  should  find 
all  right  on  his  return.  There  were  of  course  exceptions  to  these 
rules — the  diggings  would  be  a  Utopia  if  it  were  not  so — but  thej 
were  not  frequent.  The  Alcaldes  sometimes  made  awkward  de- 
cisions, from  inexperience,  but  they  were  none  the  less  implioitlj 
obeyed.  I  heard  of  one  instance  in  which  a  case  of  trespass  waa 
settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties  and  the  Sherifi'  ordered 
\o  pay  the  costs  of  Court — about  $40.  The  astonished  fnno- 
iionary  remonstrated,  but  the  power  of  the  Alcalde  was  supreme, 
»nd  he  was  obliged  to  suffer. 

The  treatment  of  the  Sonorians  by  the  American  diggers  waa 
<ue  of  the  exciting  subjects  of  the  summer.  These  people  came 
nto  the  country  in  armed  bands,  to  the  number  of  ten  thousand 
in  all,  and  took  possession  of  the  best  points  on  the  Tuolumne, 
Stanislaus  and  Mokelumne  Rivers.  At  the  Sonorian  camp  on  the 
Stanislaus  there  were,  during  the  summer,  several  thousands  of 
them,  and  the  amoimt  of  ground  they  dug  up  and  turned  over  ia 
almost  incredible.  For  a  long  time  they  were  suffered  to  work 
peaceably,  but  the  opposition  finally  became  so  strong  that  they 
were  ordered  to  leave.  They  made  no  resistance,  but  luietly 
backed  out  and  took  refuge  in  other  diggings.  In  one  or  two 
places,  I  was  told,  the  Americans,  finding  there  was  no  chance 
of  having  a  fight,  coolly  invited  them  back  again  !  At  the  tim 
of  my  visit,  however,  they  were  leaving  the  country  in  large  num- 
bers, and  there  were  probably  not  more  than  five  thousand  in  a] 
scattered  along  the  various  rivers.  Several  parties  of  them,  in 
revenge  for  the  treatment  they  experienced,  committed  outrages 
on  their  way  home,  stripping  smaU  parties  of  the  emigrants  bj 


MORAL  EFFECT  OF  GOLD.  103 

the  Gila  route  of  all  they  possessed.     It  is  not  likely  that  the 
country  will  be  troubled  with  them  in  future. 

Abundance  of  gold  does  not  always  beget,  as  moralists  teH  us,  a 
grasptag  and  avaricious  spirit.  The  principles  of  hospitality  were 
as  faithfully  observed  in  the  rude  tents  of  the  diggers  as  they 
oould  be  by  the  thrifty  farmers  of  the  North  and  West.  The  cos- 
mopolitan cast  of  society  in  California,  resulting  from  the  com- 
mingling of  so  many  races  and  the  primitive  mode  of  life,  gave  a 
character  of  good-fellowship  to  all  its  members  ;  and  in  no  part 
of  the  world  have  I  ever  seen  help  more  freely  given  to  the  needy, 
or  more  ready  cooperation  in  any  humane  proposition.  Per- 
BonaUy,  I  can  safely  say  that  I  never  met  with  sach  unvarying 
kinduess  irom  comparative  strangers. 


CHAPTER   XL 

A    NIGHT    ADVENTURE    IN    THE   MOUNTAIN. 

On  reaching  Stockton,  Lieut.  Beale  and  Col.  Lyons  decided  to 
return  to  San  Francisco  in  a  launch,  which  was  to  leave  the  samr 
evening.  This  was  thought  best,  as  mule-travel,  in  the  conditiwi 
of  the  former,  would  have  greatly  aggravated  his  illness.  The 
mules  were  left  in  my  charge,  and  as  the  management  of  five  was 
an  impossibility  for  one  man,  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  wait 
three  days,  when  Mr.  R.  A.  Parker  and  Mr.  Atherton,  of  San 
Francisco,  were  to  leave.  These  gentlemen  offered  to  make  a 
single  mulada  of  all  our  animals,  which  would  relieve  me  from  my 
embarrassment.  I  slept  that  night  in  Mr.  Lane's  store,  and  the 
next  morning  rode  out  to  Graham's  Camp,  where  the  Major  re- 
ceived me  with  the  same  genial  hospitality.  For  three  days 
longer  I  shared  the  wildwood  fare  of  his  camp-table  and  slept 
under  the  canopy  of  his  oaks.  Long  may  those  matchless  trees 
be  spared  to  the  soil — a  shore  of  cool  and  refreshing  verdure  to 
tU  who  traverse  the  hot  plains  of  San  Joaquin  ! 

Messrs.  Parker  and  Atherton,  with  three  other  gentlemen  and 
two  servants,  made  their  appearance  about  sunset.  My  mules 
had  already  been  caught  and  lariated,  and  joining  our  loose  ani- 
malfl,  we  had  a  mulada  of  ei^bt,  with  eight  riders  to  keep  them  ir 


AN    UNCEREMONIOUS   SUPPER.  105 

order.  The  plain  was  dark  when  we  started,  and  the  traD 
stretched  like  a  dusky  streak  far  in  advance.  The  mules  gave  ua 
infinite  trouble  at  first,  darting  off  on  all  sides  ;  but,  by  dint  of 
hard  chasing,  we  got  them  into  regular  file,  keeping  them  in  • 
fuiious  trot  before  us.  The  volumes  of  dust  that  rose  from  their 
feet,  completely  enveloped  us  ;  it  was  only  by  counting  the  tails 
that  occasionally  whisked  through  the  cloud,  that  we  could  tell 
whether  they  were  in  order.  One  of  my  spurs  gave  way  in  the 
race,  but  there  was  no  stopping  to  pick  it  up,  nor  did  we  halt 
until,  at  the  end  of  twelve  miles,  the  white  tent  of  the  ferry  came 
in  sight. 

We  crossed  and  rode  onward  to  my  old  camping-place  on  the 
slough.  A  canvas  tavern  had  been  erected  on  a  little  knoll,  since 
my  visit,  and  after  picketing  our  animals  in  the  meadow,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  rouse-  the  landlord.  The  only  person  we  could  find 
was  an  old  man,  lying  under  a  tree  near  at  hand  ;  he  refused  to 
stir,  saying  there  was  nothing  to  eat  in  the  tent,  and  he  would  not 
get  up  and  cook  at  that  time  of  night.  My  fellow-travelers,  ac- 
customed to  the  free-and-easy  habits  of  California,  entered  the 
tent  without  ceremony  and  began  a  general  search  for  comestibles. 
The  only  things  that  turned  up  were  a  half-dozen  bottles  of  ale 
in  a  dusty  box  and  a  globular  jar  of  East-India  preserves,  on 
which  odd  niaterials  we  supped  with  a  hearty  relish.  The  appe- 
tite engendered  by  open-air  life  in  California  would  have  made 
palatable  a  much  more  incongruous  meal.  We  then  lay  down  on 
the  sloping  sides  of  the  knoll,  rolled  in  a  treble  thickness  of 
blankets,  for  the  nights  were  beginning  to  grow  cool.  I  was 
awakened  once  or  twice  by  a  mysterious  twitching  of  my  bed- 
clothes and  a  scratching  noise,  the  cause  of  which  was  explained 
vhen  I  arose  in  the  morning.     I  had  been  sleeping  over  half  a 


l()6  ELDORADO. 

dozen  squirrel-holes,  to  the  great  discomfort  of  the  imprisoned 
tenants. 

The  old  denizen  of  the  place,  in  better  hnmor  after  we  had 
paid  for  om-  unceremonious  supper,  set  about  baking  tortillas  and 
fltcwing  beef,  to  which  we  added  two  cans  of  preserved  turtU 
soup,  which  we  found  in  the  tent.     Our  mules  had  scattered  far 
and  wide  during  the  night,  and  several  hours  elapsed  before  they 
could  be  herded  and  got  into  traveling  order.     The  face  of  thr 
bvoad  plain  we  had  to  cross  glimmered  in  the  heat,  and  the  Coast 
Range  beyond  it  was  like  the  phantom  of  a  mountain-chain.     We 
journeyed  on,  hour  after  hour,  in  the  sweltering  blaze,  crossed  the 
divide  and  reached  Livermore's  Ranche  late  in  the  afternoon 
My  saddle-mule  was  a  fine  gray  animal  belonging  to   Andrew 
Sublette,  which  Lieiit.  Beale  had  taken  on  our  way  to  Stockton, 
Icitving  his  own  alazan  at  the  ranche.     Mr.  Livermore  was  ab- 
Rent,  but  one  of  his  vaqueros  was  prevailed  upon,  by  a  bribe  of 
five  dollars,  to  take  the  mule  out  to  the  corral,  six  miles  distant, 
and  bring  me  the  horse  in  its  stead.     I  sat  down  in  the  door  of 
the  ranche  to  await  his  arrival,  leaving  the  company  to  go  forward 
with  all  our  animals  to  a  camping-ground,  twelve  miles  further. 
li  was  quite  dark  when  the  vaquero  rode  up  with  the  alazan^ 
and  I  lost  no  time  in  saddling  him  and  leaving  the  ranche.     The 
trail,  no  longer  confined  among  the  hiUs,  struck  out  on  a  circulai 
plain,  ten  miles  in  diameter,  which  I  was  obliged  to  cross.     The 
moon  was  not   risen ;  the  soil  showed  but  one  dusky,  unvaried 
hue  ;  and  my  only  chance  of  keeping  the  trail  was  in  the  sound 
of  my  horse's  feet.     A  streak  of  gravelly  sand  soon  put  me  at 
feult,  and  after  doubling  backwards  and  forwards  a  few  times,  I 
found  myself  adrift  without  compass  or  helm.     In  the  uncertain 
gloom,  my  horse  blundered  into  stony  hollows,  or,  lost  in  the  mazei 


THE   TRAIL    L08T.  lOT 

of  the  oaks,  startled  the  buzzards  and  mountain  vu.turep  from 
their  roost.  The  boughs  rustled,  and  the  aii-  was  stined  bj  ihe 
muffled  beat  of  their  wings :  I  could  see  them,  like  unearthly, 
boding  shapes,  as  they  swooped  between  me  and  the  stars.  Al 
last,  making  a  hazard  at  the  direction  in  which  the  trail  ran,  I  set 
my  course  by  the  stars  and  pushed  steadily  forward  in  a  straight 
line. 

Two  hours  of  this  dreary  travel  passed  away  :  the  moon  rose, 
lighting  up  the  loneliness  of  the  wide  plain  and  the  dim,  silvery 
sweep  of  mountains  around  it.  I  found  myself  on  the  verge  of  a 
steep  bank,  which  I  took  to  be  an  arroyo  we  had  crossed  on  the 
outward  journey.  Getting  down  with  some  difficulty,  I  rode  foi 
more  than  a  mile  over  the  flinty  bed  of  a  lake,  long  since  dried  up 
by  the  summer  heats.  At  its  opposite  side  I  plunged  into  a 
ghostly  wood,  echoing  with  the  dismal  howl  of  the  wolves,  and 
finally  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  The  deep-sunken  glen, 
at  whose  entrance  I  stood,  had  no  familiar  feature  ;  the  tall  clumps 
of  chapparal  in  its  bottom,  seemed  fit  haunts  for  grizzly  bear  ;  and- 
after  following  it  for  a  short  distance,  I  turned  about  and  urged 
my  horse  directly  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  mountain. 

It  was  now  midnight,  as  near  as  I  could  judge  by  the  moon,  and 
I  determined  to  go  no  further.  I  had  neither  fire-arms,  matches 
nor  blankets — all  my  equipments  having  gone  on  with  the  pack- 
mule — and  it  was  necessary  to  choose  a  place  where  I  could  be 
secure  from  the  bears,  the  only  animal  to  be  feared.  The  very 
rommit  of  the  mountain  seemed  to  be  the  safest  spot ;  there  was 
a  single  tree  upon  it,  but  the  sides,  for  some  distance  below,  were 
oar»c  and  if  a  "  grizzly"  should  come  up  one  side,  I  could  dash 
iown  the  other.  Clambering  to  the  top,  I  tied  my  horse  to  the 
tree,  took  the  saddle  for  a  pillow,  and  coiling  into  the  gnjallesl 


108  KLDORADO. 

possible  compass,  tried  to  cover  myself  with  a  square  yard  of  sad 
die-blanket.  It  was  too  cold  to  sleep,  and  I  lay  there  for  hours, 
with  aching  bones  and  chattering  teeth,  looking  down  on  the  vast 
mysterious  depths  of  the  landscape  below  me.  I  shall  never  for» 
get  the  shadowy  level  of  the  plain,  whose  belts  and  spots  of  timboi 
were  like  clouds  in  the  wan  light — the  black  mountain-gulfs  3B 
either  hand,  which  the  incessant  yell  of  a  thousand  wolves  mad« 
seem  like  caverns  of  the  damned — the  far,  faint  shapes  of  the  dis- 
tant ranges,  which  the  moonshine  covered,  as  with  silver  gossamer, 
and  the  spangled  arch  overhead,  doubly  lustrous  in  the  thin  air 
Once  or  twice  I  fell  into  a  doze,  to  dream  of  slipping  off  precipices 
and  into  icy  chasms,  and  was  roused  by  the  snort  of  my  horse,  as 
he  stood  with  raised  ears,  stretching  the  lariat  to  its  full  length. 

When  the  morning  star,  which  was  never  so  welcome,  brought 
the  daylight  in  its  wake,  I  saddled  and  rode  down  to  the  plain. 
Taking  a  course  due  north,  I  started  off  on  a  gallop  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  recovered  the  trail.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
•  the  beautiful  meadow  where  the  party  was  to  have  camped,  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  them  to  be  seen  ;  the  mules,  as  it  happened, 
were  picketed  behind  some  timber,  and  the  men,  not  yet  arisen, 
were  buried  out  of  sight  in  the  rank  grass.  I  rode  up  to  some 
milpas,  (brush-huts,)  mhabited  by  Indians,  and  for  two  reals  ob- 
tained a  boiled  ear  of  corn  and  a  melon,  which  somewhat  relieved 
my  chill,  hungry  condition.  Riding  ahead  slowly,  that  my  horse 
might  now  and  then  crop  a  mouthful  of  oats,  I  was  finally  over 
taken  by  Mr.  Atherton,  who  was  m  advance  of  the  company.  We 
again  took  our  places  behind  the  mules,  and  hurried  on  to  the 
Mission  of  San  Jose. 

Mr.  Parker  had  been  seized  with  fever  and  chills  during  ttc 
night,  and  decided  to  rest  a  day  at  the  Pueblo  San  Jose      Messrs 


SECOND    VIEW    OF    SAN    FRANCISCO.  109 

A.t]ierton  and  Patterson,  with  myself,  after  breakfasting  and 
making  a  hasty  visit  to  the  rich  pear-trees  and  grape-vines  of  tho 
garden,  took  a  shorter  road,  leading  around  the  head  of  the  bay 
to  Whisman's  Ranche.  We  trotted  the  twenty-five  miles  in  about 
four  hours,  rested  an  hour,  and  then  set  out  again,  hoping  to  reach 
San  Francisco  that  night.  It  was  too  much,  however,  for  oui 
mules  ,  after  passing  the  point  of  Santa  Clara  mountain  they  be- 
gan to  scatter,  and  as  it  was  quite  dark,  we  halted  in  a  grove  neai 
the  Ruined  Mission.  We  lay  down  on  the  ground,  supperless  and 
somewhat  weary  with  a  ride  of  about  seventy  miles.  I  slept  & 
refreshing  sleep  under  a  fragrant  bay-tree,  and  was  up  with  the 
first  streak  of  dawn  to  look  after  my  mides.  Once  started,  we 
spurred  our  animals  into  a  rapid  trot,  which  was  not  slackened  till 
we  had  passed  the  twenty  miles  that  intervened  between  us  and 
the  Mission  Dolores. 

When  I  had  climbed  the  last  sand-hill,  riding  in  towards  San 
Francisco,  and  the  town  and  harbor  and  crowded  shipping  again 
opened  to  the  view,  I  could  scarcely  realize  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  during  my  absence  of  three  weeks.  The  town  had  not 
only  greatly  extended  its  limits,  but  seemed  actually  to  have 
doubled  its  number  of  dwellings  since  I  left.  High  up  on  the 
hills,  where  I  had  seen  only  sand  and  chapparal,  stood  clusters  of 
houses  ;  streets  which  had  been  merely  laid  out,  were  hemmed  in 
with  buildings  and  thronged  with  people  ;  new  warehouses  had 
sprung  up  on  the  water  side,  and  new  piers  were  creeping  out  to- 
ward the  shipping  ;  tho  forest  of  masts  had  greatly  thickened  ; 
and  the  noise,  motion  and  bustle  of  business  and  labor  on  all  sidea 
were  incessant.  Verily,  the  place  was  in  itself  a  marvel.  To 
Bay  that  it  was  daily  enlarged  by  from  twenty  to  thirty  houses 
may  not  sound  very  remarkable  after  all  the  stories  that  hav« 


110  ELDORADO. 

been  told  ;  yet  this,  for  a  country  which  imported  both  Imiibei 
and  houses,  and  where  labor  was  then  $10  a  day,  is  an  extraordi- 
nary growth.  The  rapidity  with  which  a  ready-made  house  is  put 
up  and  inhabited,  strikes  the  stranger  in  San  Frandisco  as  little 
short  of  magic.  He  walks  over  an  open  lot  in  his  befo re-breakfast 
stroll — the  next  morning,  a  house  complete,  with  a  family  'nside^ 
blocks  up  his  way.  He  goes  down  to  the  bay  and  looks  cut  on 
the  shipping — two  or  three  days  afterward  a  row  of  storehouses, 
staring  bun  in  the  face,  intercepts  the  view. 

I  found  Lieut.  Beale  and  Col.  Lyons,  who  gave  me  an  amusing 
account  of  their  voyage  on  the  San  Joaquin.  The  "  skipper"  of 
the  launch  in  which  they  embarked  knew  nothing  of  navigation, 
and  Lieut.  Beale,  in  spite  of  his  iUness,  was  obliged  to  take  com- 
mand. The  other  passengers  were  a  company  of  Mexican  miners 
After  tacking  for  two  days  among  the  tule  swamps,  the  launch 
ran  aground  ;  the  skipper,  in  pushing  it  off,  left  an  oar  in  the 
sand  and  took  the  boat  to  recover  it.  Just  then  a  fine  breeze 
sprang  up  and  the  launch  shot  ahead,  leaving  the  skipper  to  fol- 
low. That  night,  having  reached  a  point  within  two  miles  of  the 
site  of  an  impossible  town,  called  New-York-of-the-Paoific,  the 
passengers  left  in  a  body.  The  next  day  they  walked  to  the  little 
village  of  Martinez,  opposite  Benicia,  a  distance  of  twenty-five 
miles,  crossing  the  foot  of  Monte  Diablo.  Here  they  took  anothei 
launch,  and  after  tossing  twelve  hours  on  the  bay,  succeeded  in 
reaching  San  Francisco. 

At  the  United  States  Hotel  I  again  met  with  Colonel  Fremont., 
»nd  learned  the  particulars  of  the  magnificent  discovery  which  had 
Just  been  made  upon  his  ranche  on  the  Mariposa  River.  It  was 
nothing  less  than  a  vein  of  gold  in  the  solid  rock — the  first  which 
IumI  been  found  in  California.     T  saw  some  specimens  which  were 


COL.   Fremont's  mine  111 

In  Col.  Fremont's  possession.  The  stone  was  a  reddish  quart^ 
filled  with  rich  veins  of  gold,  and  far  surpassing  the  specimens 
brought  from  North  Carolina  and  Georgia.  Some  stones  picked 
ap  on  the  top  of  the  quartz  strata,  without  particular  selection, 
yielded  two  ounces  of  gold  to  every  twenty-five  pounds.  Col. 
Fremont  informed  me  that  the  vein  had  been  traced  for  more  than 
a  mile  The  thickness  on  the  surface  is  two  feet,  gradually  widen- 
ing as  it  descends  and  showing  larger  particles  of  gold.  The  dip 
downward  is  only  about  20°,  so  that  the  mine  can  be  worked  with 
little  expense.  The  ranche  upon  which  it  is  situated  was  pur- 
chased by  Col.  Fremont  in  1846  from  Alvarado,  former  Grovomor 
ot  che  Territory.  It  was  then  considered  nearly  worthless,  and 
Col.  F.  only  took  it  at  the  moment  of  leaving  the  country,  be- 
cause disappcrinted  in  obtaining  another  property.  This  discovery 
made  a  great  sensation  thoughout  the  country,  at  the  time,  yet  it 
was  but  the  first  of  many  ouch.  The  Sierra  Nevada  is  pierced  in 
every  part  with  these  priceless  veins,  which  will  produce  gold  foi 
centuries  after  every  spot  of  earth  from  base  to  summit  shall  have 
been  turned  over  and  washed  out. 

Many  of  my  fellow-passengers  by  the  Panama  were  realizing 
their  dreams  of  speedy  fortune ;  some  had  already  made  ^20,000 
by  speculating  in  town  lots.  A  friend  of  mine  who  had  shipped 
lumber  from  New  York  to  the  amount  of  $1000  sold  it  for 
$14,000.  At  least  seventy-five  houses  had  been  imported  from 
Canton,  and  put  up  by  Chinese  carpenters.  Washing  was  $8  a 
dozen,  and  as  a  consequence,  large  quantities  of  soiled  linen  were 
Bent  to  the  antipodes  to  be  purified.  A  vessel  just  in  from  Can- 
ton brought  two  hundred  and  fifty  dozen,  which  had  been  sent  out 
a  few  months  before  ,  anothor  from  the  Sandwich  Islands  broughl 
one  hundred  dozen,  and  the  practice  was  becoming  general. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SAN    FRANCISCO    BY    DAY    AND    NIGHT. 

A  BETTER  idea  of  San  Francisco,  in  the  beginning  of 
Beptomber,  1849,  cannot  be  given  than  by  the  description  of  a 
Bingle  day.  Supposing  the  visitor  to  have  been  long  enough  m  the 
place  to  sleep  on  a  hard  plank  and  in  spite  of  the  attacks  of 
innumerable  fleas,  he  will  bo  awakened  at  daylight  by  the  noises 
of  building,  with  which  the  hills  are  all  alive.  The  air  is 
temperate,  and  the  invariable  morning  fog  is  just  beginning  to 
gather.  By  sunrise,  which  gleams  hazily  over  the  Coast  Mountains 
across  the  Bay,  the  whole  populace  is  up  and  at  work.  The 
wooden  buildings  unlock  their  doors,  the  canvas  houses  and  tenta 
throw  back  their  front  curtains  ;  the  lighters  on  the  water  arc 
warped  out  from  ship  to  ship  ;  carts  and  porters  are  busy  along 
the  beach  ;  and  only  the  gaming-tables,  thronged  all  night  by  the 
otaries  of  chance,  are  idle  and  deserted.  The  temperatuj-e  is  80 
fresh  as  to  inspire  an  active  habit  of  body,  and  even  without  the 
stimulus  of  trade  and  speculation  there  would  be  few  sluggards  at 
this  season. 

As  early  as  half-past  six  the  bells  begin  to  sound  to  breakfast, 
»nd  for  an  hour  thenceforth,  their  incessant  clang  and  the  braying 
of  immense  gongs  drown  all  the  hammers  that  are  busy  oa  a 


THE    STREETS    AFTER    BREAKFAST.  113 

hondred  roo&.  The  hotels,  restaurants  and  refectories  of  all  kindft 
are  already  as  numerous  as  gaming-tables,  and  equally  various  in 
kind.  The  tables  d'hote  of  the  first  class,  (which  charge  $2  and 
upwards  the  meal,)  are  abundantly  supplied.  There  are  others, 
with  more  simple  and  solid  fare,  frequented  by  the  large  class  who 
have  their  fortunes  yet  to  make.  At  the  United  States  and 
California  restaurants,  on  the  plaza,  you  may  get  an  excellent 
beefsteak,  scantily  garnished  with  potatoes,  and  a  cup  of  good 
coffee  or  chocolate,  for  ^1.  Fresh  beef,  bread,  potatoes,  and  all 
provisions  which  will  bear  importation,  are  plenty ;  but  milk,  fruit 
and  vegetables  are  classed  as  luxuries,  and  fresh  butter  is  rarely 
heard  of.  On  Montgomery  street,  and  the  vacant  space  fronting 
the  water,  venders  of  coffee,  cakes  and  sweetmeats  have  erected 
their  stands,  in  order  to  tempt  the  appetite  of  sailors  just  arrived 
b  port,  or  miners  coming  down  from  the  mountains. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  town  is  in  the  ftill  flow  of  business.  The 
streets  running  down  to  the  water,  and  Montgomery  street  which 
fronts  the  Bay,  are  crowded  with  people,  all  in  hurried  motion. 
The  variety  of  characters  and  costumes  is  remarkable.  Our  own 
countrymen  seem  to  lose  their  local  peculiarities  in  such  a  crowd, 
and  it  is  by  chance  epithets  rather  than  by  manner,  that  the  New- 
Yorker  is  distinguished  from  the  Kentuckian,  the  Carolinian  from 
the  Down-Easter,  the  Virginian  from  the  Texan.  The  German 
and  Frenchman  are  more  easily  recognized.  Peruvians  and 
Chilians  go  by  in  their  brown  ponchos,  and  the  sober  Chinese,  cool 
and  impassive  in  the  midst  of  excitement,  look  out  of  the  obbque 
comers  of  their  long  eyes  at  the  bustle,  but  are  never  tempted  to 
venture  from  their  own  line  of  business.  The  eastern  mde  of  the 
plaza,  in  front  of  the  Parker  Houso  and  a  canvas  hell  called  the 
EBIdoradc,  are  the  general  rendezvous  of  business  and  amusement 


114  ELDORADO. 

— oombimng  'change,  park,  club-room  and  promenade  all  in  one 
There,  everybody  not  constantly  employed  in  one  spot,  may  be 
seen  at  some  time  of  the  day.  The  character  of  the  group* 
scattered  along  the  plaza  is  oftentimes  very  interesting.  In  one  place 
»re  three  or  four  speculators  bargaining  for  lots,  buying  and  sell 
mg  "  fifty  varas  square  "  in  towns,  some  of  which  are  canvas  and 
some  only  paper  ;  in  another,  a  company  of  miners,  brown  aa 
leather,  and  rugged  in  features  as  in  dress ;  in  a  third,  perhaps, 
three  or  four  naval  officers  speculating  on  the  next  cruise,  or  a 
knot  of  genteel  gamblers,  talking  over  the  last  night's  operations. 

The  day  advances.  The  mist  which  after  sunrise  hung  low  and 
heavy  for  an  hour  or  two,  has  risen  above  the  hills,  and  there  will 
be  two  hours  of  pleasant  sunshine  before  the  wind  sets  in  from  tha 
sea.  The  crowd  m  the  streets  is  now  wholly  alive.  Men  dart 
hither  and  thither,  as  if  possessed  with  a  never-resting  spirit. 
VTou  speak  to  an  acquaintance — a  merchant,  perhaps.  He  utters 
a  few  hurried  words  of  greeting,  while  his  eyes  send  keen  glances 
on  all  sides  of  you  ;  suddenly  he  catches  sight  of  somebody  in  the 
erowd ;  he  is  off,  and  in  the  next  five  minutes  has  bought  up  half 
a  cargo,  sold  a  town  lot  at  treble  the  sum  he  gave,  and  taken  a 
share  in  some  new  and  imposing  speculation.  It  is  impossible  to 
witness  this  excess  and  dissipation  of  business,  without  feeling 
something  of  its  influence.  The  very  air  is  pregnant  with  the 
magnetism  of  bold,  spirited,  unwearied  action,  and  he  who  but 
ventures  into  the  outer  circle  of  the  whirlpool,  is  spinning,  ere  he 
has  time  for  thought,  in  its  dizzy  vortex. 

But  see  !  the  groups  in  the  plaza  suddenly  scatter ;  the  city 
Borveyor  jerks  his  pole  out  of  the  ground  and  leaps  on  a  pile  of 
boards  ;  the  venders  of  cakes  and  sweetmeat?  follow  his  example, 
and  the  place  is  cloAred,  just  as  a  wild  bull  which  has  been  racing 


A    BULL-CHASE.  115 

down  Kearney  street  makes  his  appearance.  Two  vaqueros, 
shouting  and  swinging  their  lariats,  follow  at  a  hot  gallop; 
the  dust  flies  as  they  dash  across  the  plaza.  One  of  them,  in 
mid-career,  hurls  his  lariat  in  the  air.  Mark  how  deftly  the 
coil  unwinds  in  its  flying  curve,  and  with  what  precision  the 
noose  falls  over  the  bull's  horns  !  The  horse  wheels  as  if  on  a 
pivot,  and  shoots  off  in  an  opposite  line.  He  knows  the  length 
of  the  lariat  to  a  hair,  and  the  instant  it  is  drawn  taught,  plants 
his  feet  firmly  for  the  shock  and  throws  his  body  forward. 
The  bull  is  "  brought  up  "  with  such  force  as  to  throw  him  off 
his  legs.  He  lies  stunned  a  moment,  and  then,  rising  heavily, 
makes  another  charge.  But  by  this  time  the  second  vaquero 
has  thrown  a  lariat  around  one  of  his  hind  legs,  and  thus 
checked  on  both  sides,  he  is  dragged  off  to  slaughter. 

The  plaza  is  refilled  as  quickly  as  it  was  emptied,  and  the 
course  of  business  is  resumed.  About  twelve  o'clock,  a  wind 
begins  to  blow  from  the  north-west,  sweeping  with  most  violence 
through  a  gap  between  the  hills,  opening  towards  the  Golden 
Gate.  The  bells  and  gongs  begin  to  sound  for  dinner,  and  these 
two  causes  tend  to  lessen  the  crowd  in  the  streets  for  an  hour  or 
two.  Two  o'clock  is  the  usual  dinner-time  for  business  men,  but 
some  of  the  old  and  successful  merchants  have  adopted  the 
fashionable  hour  of  five.  Where  shall  we  dine  to-day.?  the 
restaurants  display  their  signs  invitingly  on  all  sides;  we  have 
choice  of  the  United  States,  Tortoni's,  the  Alhambra,  and  many 
other  equally  classic  resorts,  but  Delmonico's,  like  its  distinguiihed 
original  in  New  York,  has  the  highest  prices  and  the  greatest 
variety  of  dishes.  We  go  down  Kearney  street  to  a  two-storj 
wooden  house  on  the  corner  of  Jackson  The  lower  story  b  s 
•narket ;   the   walls    are   garnished   with    quarters  of  beef  and 


116 


ELDORADO. 


mutton ;  a  huge  p3e  of  Sandwich  Idand  squashes  fills  out 
eomer,  and  several  cabbage-heads,  valued  at  $2  each,  show 
theiD8eIve:<(  in  the  window.  We  enter  a  little  door  at  the  end  ol 
the  building,  ascend  a  dark,  narrow  flight  of  steps  and  find  our- 
%>lves  in  a  long,  low  room,  with  ceiling  and  walls  of  white  musUn 
and  a  floor  covered  with  oil-cloth 

There  are  about  twenty  tables  disposed  in  two  rows,  all  of  them 
dO  well  filled  that  we  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  places.  Tak- 
ing up  the  written  bill  of  fiu-e,  we  find  such  items  as  the  following  * 


EHTBBM. 

Fillet  of  Beef,    muahroom 

saace $1  7S 

Veal  CuUets,  breaded    ...  1  00 

Mutton  Chop I  00 

Lobster  Salad S  00 

Sirloin  of  Venison 1  SO 

Baked  Maccaroni 0  7ft 

Beef  Tongue,  sauce  piqoante  100 


Mook  Turtle 

8t  JaUea      

.$0  7ft 
.    1  00 

risB. 
MOO* 1  7ft 

•OILKD. 

Left  Matton,  caper  sanoe 
Cemed  Beei;  Cabbage,  .    . 
Haa  and  Tongues      .    .    . 

.  too 

.    1  00 
.   0  7fi 

So  that,  with  but  a  moderate  appetite,  the  dinner  will  cost  us 
^5,  if  we  are  at  all  epicurean  in  our  tastes.  There  are  cries  of 
"  steward  !"  from  all  parts  of  the  room — the  word  "  waiter"  is 
not  considered  sufficiently  respectful,  seeing  that  the  waiter  may 
have  been  a  lawyer  or  merchant's  clerk  a  few  months  before.  The 
dishes  look  very  small  as  they  are  placed  on  the  table,  but  they 
are  skilfully  cooked  and  very  palatable  to  men  that  have  ridden  in 
from  the  diggings.  The  appetite  one  acquires  in  California  is 
something  remarkable.  For  two  months  after  my  arrival,  my 
sensations  were  like  those  of  a  famished  wolf. 

In  the  matter  of  dining,  the  tastes  of  all  nations  can  be  gratified 
here.  Ther^  are  French  restaurants  on  the  plaza  and  on  Duponi 
street ;  an  extensive  German  establishment  on  Pacific  street ;  the 
Fonda  Peruama  ;  the  Italian  Confectionary  ;  and  three  Chinese 


THE    AFTERNOON  117 

booses,  denoted  by  their  long  three-cornered  flags  of  yellow  silk. 
The  latter  are  much  frequented  by  Americans,  on  account  of  theh 
excellent  cookery,  and  the  fact  that  meals  are  $1  each,  without 
regard  to  quantity.  Kong-Sung's  house  is  near  the  water ; 
Whang-Tong's  in  Sacramento  Street,  and  Tong-Ling's  in  Jackson 
street.  There  the  grave  Celestials  serve  up  their  chow-chow  and 
curry,  besides  many  genuine  English  dishes  ;  their  tea  and  coffe* 
eannot  be  surpassed. 

The  afternoon  is  less  noisy  and  active  than  the  forenoon. 
Merchants  keep  within-doors,  and  the  gambling-rooms  are  crowded 
with  persons  who  step  in  to  escape  the  wind  and  dust.  The  sky 
takes  a  cold  gray  cast,  and  the  hills  over  the  bay  are  barely  visible 
in  the  dense,  dusty  air.  Now  and  then  a  watcher,  who  has  been 
stationed  on  the  lull  above  Fort  Montgomery,  comes  down  and 
reports  an  inward-bound  vessel,  which  occasions  a  little  excitement 
among  the  boatmen  and  the  merchants  who  are  awaiting  consign- 
ments. Towards  sunset,  the  plaza  is  nearly  deserted  ;  the  wind 
is  merciless  in  its  force,  and  a  heavy  overcoat  is  not  found  un- 
pleasantly warm.  As  it  grows  dark,  there  is  a  luU,  though  occa- 
sional gusts  blow  down  the  hill  and  carry  the  dust  of  the  city  out 
among  the  shipping. 

The  appearance  of  San  Francisco  at  night,  from  the  water,  is 
unlike  anything  I  ever  beheld.  The  houses  are  mostly  of  canvas, 
which  is  made  transparent  by  the  lamps  within,  and  transforma 
them,  in  the  darkness,  to  dwellings  of  solid  light.  Seated  on  tho 
slopes  of  its  three  hills,  the  tents  pitched  among  the  chapparal  to 
the  very  summits,  it  gleams  like  an  amphitheatre  of  fire.  Here 
and  there  shine  out  biiUiant  points,  from  the  decoy-lamps  of  the 
gaming-houses  ;  and  through  the  indistinct  murmur  of  the  street! 
eomes  by  fits  the  sound  of  music  from  their  hot  and  crowded  pre- 


^ig  ELDORADO. 

dnota  The  pictuio  has  in  it  something  unreal  and  fantastic  ,  it 
impresses  one  like  the  cities  of  the  magic  lantern,  which  a  motaoi 
of  the  hand  can  build  or  annihilate. 

The  only  objects  left  for  us  to  visit  are  the  gaming-tables,  whose 
day  has  just  fairly  dawned.  We  need  not  wander  far  in  search  ol 
ue.  Denison's  Exchange,  the  Parker  House  and  Eldorado  stand 
ride  by  side  ;  across  the  way  are  the  Verandah  and  Aguila  de 
Ore  ;  higher  up  the  plaza  the  St.  Charles  and  Bella  Union  ;  while 
doeens  of  second-rate  establishments  are  scattered  through  the  lesn 
frequented  streets.  The  greatest  crowd  is  about  the  Eldorado  ; 
#e  find  it  difficult  to  efiect  an  entrance.  There  are  about  eight 
tables  in  the  room,  all  of  which  are  thronged  ;  copper-hued  Ka- 
nakas, Mexicans  rolled  in  their  sarapes  and  Peruvians  thrust 
through  their  ponchos,  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  brown 
and  bearded  American  miners.  The  stakes  are  generally  small, 
diough  when  the  bettor  gets  into  "  a  streak  of  luck,"  as  it  is  called, 
they  are  allowed  to  double  until  all  is  lost  or  the  bank  breaks. 
Along  the  end  of  the  room  is  a  spacious  bar,  supplied  with  all 
kinds  of  bad  liquors,  and  in  a  sort  of  gallery,  suspended  under  the 
ceQingi  a  female  violinist  tasks  her  talent  and  strength  of  muscle 
to  minister  to  the  excitement  of  play. 

The  Verandah,  opposite,  is  smaller,  but  boasts  an  equal  attrac- 
tion in  a  musician  who  has  a  set  of  Pandean  pipes  fastened  at  his 
bin,  a  drum  on  his  back,  which  he  beats  with  sticks  at  his  elbows, 
nd  cymbals  in  his  hands.     The  piles  of  coin  on  the  monte  tables 
link  merrily  to  his  playing,  and  the  throng  of  jpectators,  jammed 
logether  in  a  sweltering  mass,  walk  up  to  the  bar  between  the 
innes  and  drink  out  of  sympathy  with  his  dry  and  breathless  throat. 
At  the  AguDa  de  Oro  there  is  a  full  band  of  Ethiopian  serenadera, 
and  at  the  other  hells,  violins,  guitars  or  wheezy  accordeons,  as 


THE    INSIDE   OF   A    OAMBLINO-HELL.  lid 

tlie  case  may  be.  The  atmosphere  of  these  places  is  rank  with 
tobacco-smoke,  and  filled  with  a  feverish,  stifling  heat,  which 
communicates  an  unhealthy  glow  to  the  faces  of  the  players. 

We  shall  not  be  deterred  from  entering  by  the  heat  and  smoke 
or  the  motley  characters  into  whose  company  we  shall  be  thrown 
There  are  rare  chances  here  for  seeing  human  nature  in  one  of  its 
most  dark  and  exciting  phases.  Note  the  variety  of  expression  in 
the  faces  gathered  around  this  table  !  They  are  playing  montej 
the  favorite  game  in  California,  since  the  chances  are  considered 
more  equal  and  the  opportunity  of  false  play  very  slight.  The 
dealer  throws  out  his  cards  with  a  cool,  nonchalant  air  ;  indeed, 
the  gradual  increase  of  the  hollow  square  of  dollars  at  his  left  hand 
is  not  calculated  to  disturb  his  equanimity.  The  two  Mexicans  in 
front,  muffled  in  their  dirty  sarapes,  put  down  their  half-dollars 
and  dollars  and  see  them  lost,  without  changing  a  muscle.  Gam- 
bling is  a  born  habit  with  tkem,  and  they  would  lose  thousands 
with  the  same  indifference.  Very  different  is  the  demeanor  of  the 
Americans  who  are  playing  ;  their  good  or  iE  luck  is  betrayed  at 
once  by  involuntary  exclamations  and  changes  of  countenance, 
unless  the  stake  should  be  very  large  and  absorbing,  when  their 
anxiety,  though  silent,  may  be  read  with  no  less  certainty.  They 
have  no  power  to  resist  the  fascination  of  the  game.  Now  count- 
ing their  winnings  by  thousands,  now  dependent  on  the  kindness 
of  a  friend  for  a  few  dollars  to  commence  anew,  they  pass  hour 
after  hour  in  those  hot,  unwholesome  dens.  There  is  no  appear- 
ance of  arms,  but  let  one  of  the  players,  impatient  with  his  lossea 
and  maddened  by  the  poisonous  fluids  he  has  drank,  threaten  one 
}f  the  profession,  and  there  will  be  no  scarcity  of  knives  and  re* 
folverg. 

There  are  other  places,  where  gaming  is  carried  on  privately 


1^0  ftLDORAfiO. 

and  to  a  Jiore  ruinous  extent — rooms  in  the  rear  of  tlie  Parket 
House,  in  the  City  Hotel  and  other  places,  frequented  only  by  the 
initiated.  Here  the  stakes  are  almost  unlimited,  the  players  being 
men  of  wealth  and  apparent  respectability.  Frequently,  in  the 
absorbing  interest  of  some  desperate  game  the  night  goes  by  un 
heeded  and  morning  breaks  upon  haggard  faces  and  reckless  hearts 
Here  are  lost,  in  a  few  turns  of  a  card  or  rolls  of  a  ball,  the  product 
of  fortunate  ventures  by  sea  or  months  of  racking  labor  on  land. 
How  many  men,  maddened  by  continual  losses,  might  exclaim  ir 
their  blind  vehemence  of  passion,  on  leaving  these  hells  : 

"  Oat,  out,  thou  strumpet,  Fortune  !    All  you  goda 
In  general  synod,  take  %way  her  power  { 
Break  all  the  spokes  and  fellies  from  her  -wheel, 
And  bowl  the  round  nave  down  the  hill  of  heaven, 
Aft  low  as  to  the  fiends ! " 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

INCIDENTS    OF    A    WALK    TO   MONTEREY. 

I  STAYED  but  four  Or  five  days  in  San  Francisco  on  my  reiarc 
The  Convention,  elected  to  form  a  constitution  foi*  CaKfomia,  wu 
then  in  session  at  Monterey,  and,  partly  as  an  experiment,  partly 
for  economy's  sake,  I  determined  to  make  the  journey  of  one 
hundred  and  thirty  miles  on  foot.  Pedestrianism  in  California, 
however,  as  I  learned  by  this  little  experience,  is  something  mor« 
of  a  task  than  in  most  countries,  one  being  obliged  to  carry  hia 
hotel  with  him.  The  least  possible  bedding  is  a  Mexican  sarape, 
which  makes  a  burdensome  addition  to  a  knapsack,  and  a  loaf  of 
bread  and  flask  of  water  are  inconvenient,  when  the  mercui-y 
stands  at  90°.  Besides,  the  necessity  of  pushing  forward  many 
miles  to  reach  "  grass  and  water"  at  night,  is  not  very  pleasant 
to  the  foot-soro  and  weary  traveler.  A  mule,  with  all  his  satanic 
propensities,  is  sometimes  a  very  convenient  animal. 

]  )ressed  in  a  complete  suit  of  corduroy,  with  a  shirt  of  purple 
flannel  and  boots  calculated  to  wear  an  indefinite  length  of  time,  1 
left  San  Francisco  one  afternoon,  waded  through  the  three  miles 
of  deep  sand  to  the  Mission,  crossed  the  hOls  and  reached 
Sanchez"  Ranche  a  little  after  dark.  I  found-  the  old  man,  who 
is  said  to  lislike  the  Americans  most  cordially,  very  friendly.    ETe 


198  ELDCRADO. 

set  before  me  a  sapper  of  beef  stewed  in  red-peppers  and  ther 
gave  me  a  b^d — an  actual  bed — and,  wonder  of  wonders !  without 
fleas.  Not  far  from  Sanchez  there  is  a  large  adobe  honse,  the 
ruins  of  a  former  Mission,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  I  noticed 
%  grove  of  bay-trees.  They  were  of  a  different  species  from  the 
Italian  bay,  and  the  leaves  gave  out  a  most  pungent  odor.  Some 
of  the  trees  were  of  extraordinary  size,  the  trunk  being  three 
feet  in  diameter.  They  grew  along  the  banks  of  a  dry  anoyo, 
and  had  every  appearance  of  being  indigenous.  I  found  the  jor 
nada  of  twenty-five  miles  to  Secondini's  Ranche,  extremely  fa 
tiguing  in  the  hot  sun.  I  entered  the  ranche  panting,  threw  my 
knapsack  on  the  floor  and  inquired  of  a  handsome  young  Cali- 
fornian,  dressed  in  blue  calzoneros  :  "  Can  you  give  me  anything 
to  eat  ?"  "  Nada — nad-i-i-a .'"  he  answered,  sharpening  out  the 
sound  with  an  expression  which  meant,  as  plain  as  words  could 
say  it :  "  nothing  ;  not  even  the  little  end  of  nothing  !" 

I  was  too  himgry  to  be  satisfied  with  this  reply,  and  commenced 
an  mventory  of  all  the  articles  on  hand.  I  found  plenty  of  French 
brandy,  mescal  and  various  manufactured  wines,  which  I  rejected ; 
but  my  search  was  at  last  rewarded  by  a  piece  of  bread,  half  a 
Dutch  cheese  and  a  bottle  of  ale,  nearly  all  of  which  soon  disap- 
peared. Towards  night,  some  of  the  vaqueros  brought  in  a  cow 
with  a  lariat  around  her  horns,  threw  her  on  the  ground  and 
plunged  a  knife  mto  her  breast.  A  roaring  fire  was  already  kindled 
behind  the  house,  and  the  breath  had  not  been  many  seconds  oul 
of  the  cow's  body,  before  pieces  of  meat,  slashed  from  her  flank, 
were  broiling  on  the  coals.  When  about  half  cooked,  they  were 
matched  out,  dripping  with  the  rich,  raw  juices  of  the  animal, 
And  eaten  as  a  great  dclicacv.  One  of  the  vaqueros  handed  me  • 
large  slice,  which  I  found  rather  tough,  but  so  remarkably  sweet 


ftud  nutiitious  that  I  ate  it,  feeling  myself  at  the  time  little  bet 
ter  than  a  wolf. 

I  left  Secondini's  at  daybreak  and  traveled  twelve  miles  to  the 
Mission  of  Santa  Clara,  where,  not  being  able  to  obtain  breakfast 
I  walked  into  the  garden  and  made  a  meal  of  pears  and  the  juicy 
fruit  of  the  cactus.  Thence  to  Pueblo  San  Jose,  where  I  left  th« 
road  I  had  already  traveled,  and  took  the  broad  highway  running 
southward,  up  the  valley  of  San  Jose.  The  mountains  were 
barely  visible  on  either  side,  through  the  haze,  and  the  road,  per- 
fectly level,  now  passed  over  wide  reaches  of  grazing  land,  now 
crossed  park-like  tracts,  studded  with  oaks  and  sycamores — a 
charming  interchange  of  scenery.  I  crossed  the  dry  bed  of  Coy- 
ote Creek  several  times,  and  reached  Capt.  Fisher's  Ranche  as  it 
was  growing  dusk,  and  a  passing  traveler  warned  me  to  look  out 
for  bears. 

Capt.  Fisher,  who  is  married  to  a  Californian  lady  and  has  lived 
many  years  in  the  country,  has  one  of  the  finest  ranches  in  the 
valley,  containing  fo;ir  square  leagues  of  land,  or  about  eighteen 
thousand  acres.  There  are  upon  it  eighteen  streams  or  springs, 
two  small  orchards,  and  a  vineyard  and  garden.  He  purchased 
it  at  auction  about  three  years  since  for  $3,000,  which  was  then 
considered  a  high  price,  but  since  the  discovery  of  gold  he  has 
been  offered  $80,000  for  it.  I  was  glad  to  find,  from  the  account 
he  gave  me  of  his  own  experience  as  a  farmer,  that  my  first  im- 
pressions of  the  character  of  California  as  an  agricultural  country^ 
were  fully  justified.  The  barren,  burnt  appearance  of  the  plains 
during  the  simimer  season  misled  many  persons  as  to  the  value 
of  the  country  in  this  respect.  Froui  all  quarters  were  heard 
complaints  of  the  torrid  heat  and  arid  soil  under  which  large 
rivers  dry  up  and  vegetation  alnmsf  entirely  disappears      The 


1  ^4  CLbORADU. 

possibility  of  raising  good  crops  of  any  kii^d  was  vehemently  de- 
nied, and  the  bold  assertion  made  that  the  greater  part  of  Cali- 
fornia is  worthless,  except  for  grazing  purposes.  Capt.  Fishei 
informed  me,  however,  that  there  is  no  such  wheat  country  in  the 
world.  Even  with  the  imperfect  plowing  of  the  natives,  whicb 
does  little  more  than  scratch  up  the  surface  of  the  ground,  it  pro- 
duces a  hundred-fold.  Not  only  this,  but,  without  further  culti- 
vation, a  large  crop  springs  up  on  the  soil  the  second  and  some- 
times even  the  third  year.  Capt.  Fisher  knew  of  a  ranchero  who 
Bowed  twenty  fanegas  of  wheat,  from  which  he  harvested  one 
thousand  and  twenty  fanegas.  The  second  year  he  gathered  from 
the  same  ground  eight  hundred  fanegas,  and  the  third  year  six 
hundred.  The  unvarying  dryness  of  the  climate  after  the  rains  have 
eeased  preserves  grain  of  all  kinds  from  rot,  and  perhaps  from  the 
•ame  circumstance,  the  Hessian  fly  is  unknown.  The  mountain- 
sides, to  a  considerable  extent,  are  capable  of  yielding  fine  crops 
of  wheat,  barley  and  rye,  and  the  very  summits  and  ravines  on 
which  the  wild  oats  grow  so  abundantly  will  of  course  give  a  richer 
return  when  they  have  been  traversed  by  the  plow. 

Corn  grows  upon  the  plains,  but  thrives  best  in  the  neighboi 
hood  of  streams.  It  requires  no  irrigation,  and  is  not  planted 
until  after  the  last  rain  has  fallen.  The  object  of  this,  however, 
is  to  avoid  the  growth  of  weeds,  which,  were  it  planted  earlier, 
would  soon  choke  it,  in  the  absence  of  a  proper  system  of  ferm- 
hig.  The  use  of  the  common  cultivator  would  remove  this  diffi- 
culty, and  by  planting  in  March  instead  of  May,  an  abundant 
crop  would  be  certain.  I  saw  several  hundred  acres  which  Capt 
Pisher  had  on  his  ranche.  The  ears  were  large  and  well  filled, 
Uid  the  stalks,  though  no  rain  had  fallen  for  four  months,  were  as 
greeji  and  fresh  as  in  our  fields  at  home      Giound  which  hasbeuu 


4GRICULT0RE    IN    CALIFORNIA.  125 

plowed  and  planted,  tliough  it  shows  a  dry  crust  or  the  top,  re- 
tains its  moisture  to  within  six  inches  of  the  surface ;  while  close 
besile  it,  and  on  the  same  level,  the  uncultured  earth  is  seamed 
with  heat,  and  vegetation  burned  up.  The  valley  of  San  Jose  is 
eizty  miles  in  length,  and  contains  at  least  five  hundred  square 
jailes  of  level  plain,  nearly  the  whole  of  which  is  capable  of  culti- 
vation. In  regard  to  climate  and  situation,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
fevered  parts  of  California,  though  the  valleys  of  Sonoma,  Napa, 
Bodega,  and  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Sacramento  country,  are  said 
to  be  equally  fertile. 

Vegetables  thrive  luxuriantly,  and  many  species,  such  as 
melons,  pumpkins,  squashes,  beans,  potatoes,  etc.,  require  no 
further  care  than  the  planting.  Cabbages,  onions,  and  aU  others 
which  are  transplanted  in  the  spring,  are  obliged  to  be  irrigated. 
G-rape  vines  in  some  situations  require  to  be  occasionally  watered ; 
when  planted  on  moist  slopes,  they  produce  without  it.  A 
Frenchman  named  Vigne  made  one  hundred  barrels  of  wine  in  one 
year,  from  a  vineyard  of  about  six  acres,  which  he  cultivates  at 
the  Mission  San  Jose.  Capt.  Fisher  had  a  thousand  vines  in  his 
garden,  which  were  leaning  on  the  earth  from  the  weight  of  their 
fruit.  Many  of  the  clusters  weighed  foxir  and  five  pounds,  and  in 
bloom,  richness  and  flavor  rivaled  the  choicest  growth  of  Tuscany 
or  the  Rhine.  The  vine  wiU  hereafter  be  an  important  product 
of  California,  and  even  Burgundy  and  Tokay  may  be  superseded 
on  the  tables  of  the  luxurious  by  the  vintage  of  San  Jose  and 
Los  Angeles. 

Before  reaching  Fisher's  Ranche,  I  noticed  on  my  left  a  bola 
spur  striking  out  from  the  mountain-range.  It  terminated  In  s 
Dluff,  and  both  the  rock  and  soil  were  of  the  dark-red  color  of 
Egyptian  porphyry,  denoting  the  presence  of  cinnabar,  the  oro  0/ 


126  ELDORADO 

qnioksilver  The  veins  of  this  metal  contained  in  the  mountain 
are  thought  to  be  equal  to  those  of  the  mines  of  Santa  Clara 
which  »xe  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley,  about  eight  miles  from 
Pueblo  San  Jose. 

The  following  morning  I  resumed  my  walk  up  the  valley.  The 
soft,  cloudless  sky — the  balmy  atmosphere — the  mountain  range? 
on  (iither  hand,  stretching  far  before  me  until  they  vanished  in 
purple  haae — the  sea-like  sweep  of  the  plain,  with  its  islands  and 
shores  of  dark-green  oak,  and  the  picturesque  variety  of  animal 
life  on  all  sides,  combined  to  form  a  landscape  which  I  may  have 
seen  equalled  but  never  surpassed.  Often,  far  in  advance  beyond 
the  belts  of  timber,  a  long  blue  headland  would  curve  out  from  the 
mountains  and  seem  to  close  up  the  beautiful  plain  ;  but  after  the 
road  had  crossed  its  point,  another  and  grander  plain  expanded 
for  leagues  before  the  eye.  Nestled  in  a  warm  nook  on  the  sunnj 
side  of  one  of  these  mountain  capes,  I  found  the  ranche  of  Mr. 
Murphy,  commanding  a  splendid  prospect.  Beyond  the  house 
and  across  a  little  valley,  rose  the  conical  peak  of  El  Toro,  an 
isolated  mountain  which  served  as  a  landmark  from  San  Jose 
nearly  to  Monterey. 

I  was  met  at  the  door  by  Mr.  Ruckel  of  San  Francisco,  who, 
with  Mr.  Everett  of  New  York,  had  been  rusticating  a  few  days 
in  the  neighborhood.  They  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Murphy  and 
his  daughter,  Ellen,  both  residents  of  the  country  for  the  last  sii 
years.  Mr.  Murphy,  who  is  a  native  of  Ireland,  emigrated  from 
Missouri,  with  his  family,  in  1843.  He  owns  nine  leagues  of  land 
(forty  thousand  acres)  in  the  valley,  and  his  cottage  is  a  well-known 
and  welcome  resting-place  to  all  the  Americans  in  the  country. 
During  the  war  he  remained  on  the  ranche  in  company  with  hia 
daughter,   notwithstanding   Castro's    troops   were    scouring   the 


A    MOUNTAIN    PANORAMA.  127 

country,  and  all  other  families  had  moved  to  the  Pueblo  for  pro- 
tection. His  three  sons  were  at  the  same  time  volunteers  under 
Fremont's  command. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Murphy  kindly  oflFered  to  accompany  me  to 
the  top  of  El  Toro.  Two  horses  were  driven  in  from  the  cabal- 
lada  and  saddled,  and  on  these  we  started,  at  the  usual  sweeping 
peed.  Reaching  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  the  lithe  and  spirited 
animals  climbed  its  abrupt  side  like  goata,  following  the  windings 
of  cattle-paths  up  the  rocky  ridges  and  through  patches  of  stunted 
oak  and  chapparal,  till  finally,  bathed  in  sweat  and  panting  with 
the  toil,  they  stood  on  the  summit.  We  looked  on  a  vast  and 
wonderful  landscape.  The  mountain  rose  like  an  island  in  the  sea 
of  air,  so  far  removed  from  all  it  overlooked,  that  everything  waa 
wrapped  in  a  subtle  violet  haze,  through  which  the  features  of  the 
scene  seemed  grander  and  more  distant  than  the  reality.  West 
of  us,  range  behind  range,  ran  the  Coast  Mountains,  parted  by 
deep,  wild  valleys,  in  which  we  could  trace  the  course  of  streams, 
shaded  by  the  pine  and  the  giant  redwood.  On  the  other  side,  the 
valley  of  San  Jose,  ten  miles  in  width,  lay  directly  at  our  feet, 
extending  to  the  North  and  South,  beyond  point  and  headland, 
till  either  extremity  was  lost  in  the  distance.  The  unvarying 
yellow  hue  of  mountain  and  plain,  except  where  they  were  traversed 
by  broad  belts  of  dark  green  timber,  gave  a  remarkable  effect  to 
the  view.  It  was  not  the  color  of  barrenness  and  desolation  and 
had  no  character  of  sadness  or  even  monotony.  Rather,  glim- 
mering through  the  mist,  the  moimtains  seemed  to  have  arrayed 
themselves  in  cloth  of  gold,  as  if  giving  testimony  of  the  royal 
metal  with  which  their  veins  abound. 

After  enjoying  this  scene  for  some  time,  we  commenced  the 
lesoent.     The  peak  slanted  do^^lward  at  an  angle  of  45*,  which 


128  KLUUKADO. 

rendered  it  toflsome  work  for  our  horses.  I  was  about  half-way 
down  the  summit-cone,  when  my  saddle,  slipping  over  the  honse'e 
shoulders,  suddenly  dropped  to  his  ears.  I  was  shot  forward  and 
alighted  on  my  feet  two  or  three  yards  below,  fortunately  retaining 
the  end  of  the  lariat  in  my  hand.  For  a  few  minutes  we  performed 
a  very  spirited  pas  de  deux  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  but  Mr 
Murphy  coming  to  my  assistance,  the  horse  was  finally  quieted  and 
re-saddled.  The  afternoon  was  by  this  time  far  advanced,  and  I 
accepted  Mr.  Murphy's  invitation  to  remain  for  the  night.  Hia 
pleasant  family  cucle  was  increased  in  the  evening  by  the  arrival 
of  Rev.  Mr.  Dowiat,  a  Catholic  Missionary  from  Oregon,  who 
gave  us  an  account  of  the  Indian  massacre  the  previous  winter. 
He  was  on  the  spot  the  day  of  its  occurrence  and  assisted  in  in- 
terring the  bodies  of  Dr.  Whitman  and  his  fellow-victims 

I  traveled  slowly  the  next  day,  for  the  hot  sand  and  unaccus 
tomed  exercise  were  beginning  to  make  some  impression  on  mjr 
feet.  Early  in  the  afternoon  I  reached  some  milpas  standing  in 
the  middle  of  a  cornfield.  A  handsome  young  ranchero  came 
dashing  up  on  a  full  gaUop,  stopping  his  horse  with  a  single  bound 
as  he  neared  me.  I  asked  him  the  name  of  the  ranche,  and 
whether  he  could  give  me  a  dinner.  "  It  is  Castro's  Ranche,"  he 
replied  ;  "  and  I  am  a  Castro.  If  you  want  water-melons,  or  dinner 
either,  don't  go  to  the  other  milpas,  for  they  have  nothing :  venga  !*' 
and  oflF  he  started,  dashing  through  the  corn  and  over  the  melon 
patches,  as  if  they  were  worthless  sand.  I  entered  the  mUpa, 
which  resembled  an  enormous  wicker  crate.  In  default  of  chaira 
i  sat  upon  the  ground,  and  very  soon  a  dish  of  tortillas,  one  c^ 
boiled  corn  and  another  of  jerked  beef,  were  set  before  me.  There 
was  no  need  of  knives  and  forks  ;  I  watched  the  heir  of  the  CastroS] 
placed  a  tortilla  on  one  knee  and  plied  my  fingers  with  an  assiduitt 


BELATED    ON    THE    ROAD.  J29 

equal  to  his  own,  so  that  between  ns  there  was  little  left  of  the 
repast.  He  then  picked  out  two  melons  from  a  large  pile,  rolled 
then:  to  me,  and  started  away  again,  doubtless  to  chase  down  more 
enstomers. 

The  road  crossed  the  dry  bed  of  a  river,  passed  some  meadowa 
of  fresh  green  grass  and  entered  the  hills  on  the  western  side  of  the 
valley.  After  passing  the  divide,  I  met  an  old  Indian,  traveling 
ou  foot,  of  whom  I  asked  the  distance  to  San  Juan  His  reply  in 
broken  Spanish  was  given  with  a  comical  brevity  :  "  San  Juan- 
two  leagues — you  sleep — I  sleep  rancho — ^you  walk — ^I  walk  , 
a/nda^  vamos  /"  and  pointing  to  the  sun  to  signify  that  it  wai 
growing  late,  he  trudged  oflF  with  double  speed.  By  sunset  I 
emerged  from  the  mountains,  waded  the  Rio  Pajaro,  and  entered 
on  the  valley  of  San  Juan,  which  stretched  for  leagues  before  me, 
as  broad  and  beautiful  as  that  I  had  left.  The  road,  leading  di- 
rectly across  it,  seemed  endless  ;  I  strained  my  eyes  in  vain  look- 
ing for  the  Mission.  At  last  a  dark  spot  appeared  some  distance 
ahead  of  me.  "  Pray  heaven,"  thought  I,  "  that  you  be  either  a 
house,  and  stand  still,  or  a  man,  and  come  forward."  It  was  an 
Indian  vaquero,  who  pointed  out  a  dark  line,  which  I  could  barely 
discern  through  the  dusk.  Soon  afterwards  the  sound  of  a  bell^. 
chiming  vespers,  broke  on  the  silence,  but  I  was  still  more  weary 
before  I  reached  the  walls  where  it  swung. 

At  the  inn  adjoining  the  Mission  I  found  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt,  Col 
Stewart,  Capt,  Simmons  and  Mr.  Harrison,  of  San  Francisco 
We  had  beds,  but  did  not  sleep  much  ;  few  travelers,  in  fact,  sloep 
at  any  of  the  Missions,  on  account  of  the  dense  population.  In 
the  morning  1  made  a  sketch  of  the  ruined  building,  filled  my 
pockets  with  pears  in  the  orchard,  and  started  up  a  caiiada  to  ctom 
Uie  mo'intains  to  the  plain  of  Salinas  River.  It  was  a  mule-path, 
6* 


130  ELDORADO. 

impracticable  for  wagons,  and  leading  directly  np  the  &ce  of  tht 
dividing  ridge.  Clumps  of  the  madrono — a  native  evergeen,  with 
large,  glossy  leaves,  and  trunk  and  branches  of  bright  purple — 
filled  the  ravines,  and  dense  thickets  of  a  shrub  with  a  snow-white 
berry  lined  the  way.  From  the  summit  there  was  a  fine  moun* 
tain-view,  sloping  off  on  either  hand  into  the  plains  of  San  Juan 
and  Salinas. 

Along  this  road,  since  leaving  San  Jose,  I  met  constantly  with 
companies  of  emigrants  from  the  Gila,  on  their  way  to  the  dig- 
gings. Many  were  on  foot,  having  had  their  animals  taken  from 
them  by  the  Yuma  Indians  at  the  crossing  of  the  Colorado.  They 
were  wild,  sun-burned,  dilapidated  men,  but  with  strong  and  hardy 
frames,  that  were  little  affected  by  the  toils  of  the  journey.  Some 
were  mounted  on  mules  which  had  carried  them  from  Texas  and 
Arkansas  ;  and  two  of  the  Knickerbocker  Company,  having  joined 
their  teams  to  a  wagon,  had  begun  business  by  filling  it  with  vege- 
tables at  the  Mission,  to  sell  again  in  the  gold  district.  In  a  little 
glen  I  found  a  party  of  them  camped  for  a  day  or  two  to  wash 
their  clothes  in  a  pool  which  had  drained  from  the  meadows  above. 
The  companies  made  great  inroads  on  my  progress  by  questioninf, 
me  about  the  gold  region.  None  of  them  seemed  to  have  any  very 
definite  plan  in  their  heads.  It  was  curious  to  note  their  eagerness 
to  hear  "  golden  reports"  of  the  country,  every  one  of  them  be- 
traying, by  his  questioning,  the  amount  of  the  fortune  he  secretly 
expected  to  make.  "  Where  would  you  advise  me  to  go  .'*"  WM 
the  first  question,  I  evaded  the  responsibility  of  a  direct  answer, 
and  gave  them  the  general  report  of  the  yield  on  all  the  rivers 
**  How  much  can  I  dig  in  a  day  ?"  This  question  was  so  absurd, 
as  I  could  know  nothing  of  the  physical  strength,  endurance  oi 
(^logical  knowledge  of  the  omigrant,  that  I  invariably  refused  k 


THE    GILA    BMICRANTS.  l3l 

tnaike  a  random  answer,  telling  them  it  depended  entirely  on  them 
selves.     But  there  was  no  escaping  in  this  manner.     "  Well,  ho^ 
much  do  you  thivJc  I  can  dig  in  a  day  ?"  was  sure  to  follow,  and  1 
iras  obliged  to  satisfy  them  by  replying :  "  Perhaps  a  dollar's 
worth,  perhaps  five  poimds,  perhaps  nothing  !" 

They  spoke  of  meeting  great  numbers  of  Sonorians  on  their  waj 
ftome — some  of  whom  had  attempted  to  steal  their  mules  and 
provisions.  Others,  again,  who  had  reached  the  country  quite 
destitute,  were  kindly  treated  by  them.  The  Yuma  and  Maricopa* 
Indians  were  the  greatest  pests  on  the  route.  They  had  met  witl 
no  difficulty  in  passing  through  the  Apache  country,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  some  little  thieving,  the  Pimos  tribes  had  proved 
friendly.  The  two  former  tribes,  however,  had  united  their  forces, 
which  amounted  to  two  thousand  warriors,  and  taken  a  hostile  po- 
sition among  the  hills  near  the  Colorado  crossing.  There  had 
been  several  skirmishee  between  them  and  small  bodies  of  emi- 
grants, in  which  men  were  killed  on  both  sides.  A  New  York 
Company  lost  five  of  its  members  in  this  manner.  Nearly  all  the 
persons  I  met  had  been  seven  months  on  the  way.  They  reported 
that  there  were  about  ten  thousand  persons  on  the  Gila,  not  more 
than  half  of  whom  had  yet  arrived  in  California.  Very  few  ol 
the  original  companies  held  together,  most  of  them  being  too  largo 
for  convenience. 

Descending  a  long  cailada  in  the  mountains,  I  came  out  at  the 
great  Salinas  Plain.  At  an  Indian  ranche  on  the  last  slope, 
several  cart-loads  of  melons  were  heaped  beside  the  door,  and  I 
ate  two  or  three  in  company  with  a  traveler  who  rode  up,  and 
who  proved  to  be  a  spy  employed  by  Gen.  Scott  in  the  Mexican 
campaign.  He  was  a  small  man,  with  a  peculiar,  keen  gray  eye, 
and  a  physiognomy  thoroughly  adapted  for  concealing  all  that  wai 


132  KLDORADO. 

passing  in  his  mind.  His  hair  was  long  and  brown,  and  his 
beard  unshorn  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  genuine  though  somewhat 
diminutive  type  of  Harvey  Birch,  differing  from  him  likewise  in  a 
courteous  freedom  of  manner  which  he  had  learned  by  long  fa- 
miliarity with  Spanish  habits.  While  we  sat,  slicing  the  melons 
•nd  draining  their  sugary  juice,  he  told  me  a  story  of  his  capture 
by  the  Mexicans,  after  the  battles  in  the  Valley.  He  was  carried 
to  Queretaro,  tried  and  sentenced  to  be  shot,  but  succeeded  ia 
bribing  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  through  whose  means  he  suo- 
ceeded  in  escaping  the  night  before  the  day  of  execution.  The 
sergeant's  wife,  who  brought  his  meals  to  the  prison  in  a  basket, 
left  with  him  the  basket,  a  rehosa  and  petticoat,  in  which  he  arrayed 
himself,  after  having  shaved  off  his  long  beard,  and  passed  out  un- 
noticed by  the  guard.  A  good  horse  was  in  waiting,  and  he  never 
slacked  rein  until  he  reached  San  Juan  del  Rio,  eleven  leagues 
from  Queretaro. 

To  strike  out  on  the  plain  was  like  setting  sail  on  an  unknown 
sea.  My  companion  soon  sank  below  the  horizon,  while  I,  whose 
timbers  were  somewhat  strained,  labored  after  him.  I  had  some 
misgivings  about  the  road,  but  followed  it  some  four  or  five  mUes, 
when,  on  trying  the  course  with  a  compass,  I  determined  to  leave 
it  and  take  the  open  plain.  I  made  for  a  faint  speck  far  to  the 
right,  which,  after  an  hour's  hard  walking  showed  itself  to  be  a 
deserted  ranche,  beside  an  ojo  de  agua,  or  marshy  spring.  For- 
tunately, I  struck  on  another  road,  and  perseveringly  followed  it 
till  dusk,  when  I  reached  the  ranche  of  Thomas  Blanco,  on  the 
bank  of  the  Salinas  River.  Harvey  Birch  was  standing  in  the 
door,  having  arrived  an  hour  before  me.  Tortillas  and  frijolea 
were  smoking  on  the  table — a  welcome  sight  to  a  himgry  man  ! 
Mr  Blanco,  who  treated  us  w  ith  -^  nuine  kindness,  then  gave  us 


510NTERE\     AT    LAST  133 

ii^ud  beds,  and  I  went  to  sleep  with  the  boom  of  the  surf  on  the 
shore  of  the  distant  bay  ringing  in  my  ears. 

Mr.  Blanco,  who  is  married  to  a  Califomian  woman,  has  beea 
living  here  several  years.  His  accounts  of  the  soil  and  climate 
fully  agreed  with  what  I  had  heard  from  other  residents.  There 
is  a  fine  garden  on  the  ranche,  but  during  his  absence  at  tht 
placers  in  the  summer,  all  the  vegetables  were  carried  away  by  a 
band  of  Sonorians,  who  loaded  his  pack-mules  with  them  and 
drove  them  off.  They  would  even  have  forcibly  taken  his  wife 
and  her  sister  with  them,  had  not  some  of  her  relatives  fortu- 
nately arrived  in  time  to  prevent  it. 

I  was  so  lame  and  sore  the  next  morning,  that  I  was  fain  to  be 
helped  over  the  remaining  fifteen  miles  to  Monterey,  by  the  kind 
offer  of  Mr.  Shew  of  Baltimore,  who  gave  me  a  seat  in  his  wagon 
The  road  passed  over  sand-hills,  covered  only  with  chapparal,  and 
good  for  nothing  except  as  a  shooting-ground  for  partridges  and 
hares.  The  view  of  the  town  as  you  approach,  opening  through  a 
gap  between  two  low,  piny  hills,  is  very  fine.  Though  so  far  in- 
ferior to  San  Francisco  in  size,  the  houses  were  aU  substantially 
built,  and  did  not  look  as  if  they  would  fly  off  in  a  gale  of  wind. 
They  were  scattered  somewhat  loosely  over  a  gentle  slope,  behind 
which  ran  a  waving  outline  of  pine-covered  mountains.  On  the 
right  hand  appeared  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  with  six  or  seven 
vessels  anchored  near  the  shore.  The  American  flag  floated  gaily 
in  the  sunshine  above  the  fort  on  the  bluff  and  the  Government 
offices  in  the  town,  and  prominent  among  the  buildings  on  tha 
high  ground  stood  the  Town  Hall — a  truly  neat  and  spacious  ecfr 
fice  of  yellow  stone,  in  which  the  Constitutional  Convention  wai 
tfien  sitting. 

In  spite  of  the  additional  life  which  this  body  gave  to  theplaoi^ 


134  ELDORADO. 

my  first  impression  was  that  of  a  deserted  town.  Few  people 
were  stirring  in  the  streets  ;  business  seemed  dull  and  stagnant  j 
and  after  hunting  half  an  hour  for  a  hotel,  I  learned  that  there 
was  none.  In  this  dilemma  I  lucidly  met  my  former  fellow* 
traveler,  Major  Smith,  who  asked  me  to  spread  my  blanket  in  hia 
room,  in  the  cuartel^  or  Government  barracks.  I  willingly  com- 
plied, glad  to  find  a  place  of  rest  after  a  foot-journey  which  I  de- 
clared dionld  be  my  last  in  California. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

UVE   IN    MONTERKT. 

Major  Smith,  who  was  Paymaster  for  the  stations  of  Monterey 
and  San  Diego,  had  arrived  only  a  few  days  previous,  from  thb 
latter  place.  He  was  installed  in  a  spacious  room  in  the  upper 
story  of  the  cuartel,  which  hy  an  impromptu  partition  of  muslin, 
was  divided  into  an  oflSce  and  hedroom.  Two  or  three  empty 
freight-boxes,  ftimished  as  a  great  favor  by  the  Quarter  Master, 
served  as  desk,  table  and  wash-stand.  There  were  just  three 
chairs  for  the  Major,  his  brother  and  myself,  so  that  when  we  had 
a  visit,  one  of  us  took  his  seat  on  a  box.  The  only  bedding  I 
brought  from  San  Francisco  was  a  sarape,  which  was  insufScient, 
but  with  some  persuasion  we  obtained  a  soldier's  pallet  and  an 
armfal  of  straw,  out  of  which  we  made  a  comfortable  bed.  We 
were  readily  initiated  into  the  household  mysteries  of  sweeping, 
dusting,  etc.,  and  after  a  few  days'  practice  felt  competent  to  tak« 
charge  of  a  much  larger  establishment. 

I  took  my  meals  at  the  Fonda  de  la  Unions  on  the  opposite 
ride  of  the  street.  It  was  an  old,  smoky  place  not  uncomfortably 
elean,  with  a  billiard-room  and  two  small  rooms  adjoining,  where 
the  owner,  a  sallow  Mexican,  with  his  Indian  cook  and  mucAacho 
•ntertained  his  customers.     The  place  was  frequented  by  %  nunr 


136  ELDORADO. 

ber  of  the  members  and  clerks  of  the  Convention,  by  all  rambling 
Americans  or  Californians  who  happened  to  be  in  Monterey,  and 
occasionally  a  seaman  or  two  from  the  ships  in  the  harbor.  The 
charges  were  usually  $1  per  meal ;  for  which  we  were  furnished 
with  an  olla  of  boiled  beef,  cucumbers  and  corn,  an  asado  of  beef 
and  red-pepper,  a  guisado  of  beef  and  potatoes,  and  two  or  three 
cups  of  execrable  coflfee.  At  the  time  of  my  arrival  this  was  the 
only  restaurant  in  the  place,  and  reaped  such  a  harvest  of  pexos^ 
that  others  were  not  long  in  starting  up. 

There  wag  one  subject,  which  at  the  outset  occaaoned  us  many 
sleepless  nights.  In  vain  did  we  attempt  to  forego  the  contempla- 
tion of  it ;  as  often  as  we  lay  down  on  our  pallets,  the  thought 
would  come  uncalled,  and  very  soon  we  were  writhing  under  its 
attacks  as  restlessly  as  Richard  on  his  ghost-haunted  couch.  It 
was  no  imaginary  disturbance  ;  it  assailed  us  on  all  sides,  and 
without  cessation.  It  was  an  annoyance  by  no  means  peculiar  to 
California  ;  it  haunts  the  temples  of  the  Incas  and  the  haUs  of  the 
Montezumas  ;  I  nave  felt  it  come  upon  me  in  the  Pantheon  of 
Rome,  and  many  a  traveler  has  bewailed  its  visitation  while  sleep- 
ing in  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramid.  Nothing  is  more  positively 
real  to  the  feelings,  nothing  more  elusive  and  intangible  to  the 
search.  You  look  upon  the  point  of  its  attack,  and  you  see  it  not , 
you  put  your  finger  on  it,  and  it  is  not  there  ! 

We  tried  all  the  means  in  our  power  to  procure  a  good  night's 
rest.  We  swept  out  the  room,  shook  out  the  blankets  and  tuckeii 
ourselves  in  so  skillfully  that  we  thought  no  flea  could  efl'ect  an 
entrance — but  in  vain.  At  last,  after  four  nights  of  waking  tor- 
ment, I  determined  to  give  up  the  attempt ;  I  had  become  so  ner- 
vous by  repeated  failures  that  the  thought  of  it  alone  would  have 
orev^nted  slc^p.     At  bed-.timn,  therefore,  I  took  my  blankets, 


rHE    FLEAS   OUTWITTED.  IgiJ 

Mid  went  up  into  the  pine  woods  behind  the  town  I  chose  a 
warm  comer  between  some  bushes  and  a  fallen  log ;  the  air  was 
misty  and  chill  and  the  moon  clouded  over,  but  I  lay  sheltered 
and  comfortable  on  my  pillow  of  dry  sticks.  Occasionally  a  par- 
tridge would  stir  in  the  bushes  by  my  head  or  a  squirrel  rustle 
among  the  dead  leaves,  while  far  back  in  the  gloomy  shadows  of 
the  forest  the  coyotes  kept  up  an  endless  howl.  I  slept  but  in- 
differently, for  two  or  three  fleas  had  escaped  the  blanket-shak- 
ing, and  did  biting  enough  for  fifty. 

After  many  trials,  I  finally  nonplussed  them  in  spite  of  all  their 
cunning.  There  is  a  thick  green  shrub  in  the  forest,  whose  power- 
ful balsamic  odor  is  too  much  for  them.  After  sweeping  the 
floor  and  sprinkling  it  with  water,  I  put  down  my  bed,  previously 
well  shaken,  and  surrounded  it  with  a  chevaux-de-frise  of  this 
shrub,  wide  enough  to  prevent  their  overleaping  it.  Thus  moated 
and  palisaded  from  the  foe,  I  took  my  rest  unbroken,  to  his  utter 
discomfiture. 

Every  day  that  I  spent  io  Monterey,  I  found  additional  cause 
to  recede  from  my  first  impression  of  the  duDness  of  the  place. 
Quiet  it  certainly  is,  to  one  coming  from  San  Francisco  ;  but  it 
is  only  duU  in  the  sense  that  Nice  and  Pisa  are  dull  cities.  The 
bustle  of  trade  is  wanting,  but  to  one  not  bent  on  gold-hunting,  a 
delicious  climate,  beautiful  scenery,  and  pleasant  society  are  a 
fiill  compensation.  Those  who  stay  there  for  any  length  of  time, 
love  the  place  before  they  leave  it — ^which  would  scarcely  be  said 
cf  San  Francisco. 

The  situation  of  Monterey  is  admirable.  The  houses  are  built 
on  a  broad,  gentle  slope  of  land,  about  two  miles  from  Point 
Pinos,  the  southern  extremity  of  the  bay.  They  are  scattered 
over  an  extent  of  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  leaving  ample  roon 


198  ELDORADO. 

for  the  growth  of  the  town  for  many  years  to  come.  The  oatlint 
of  the  hills  in  the  rear  is  somewhat  similar  to  those  of  Staten 
Island,  but  they  increase  in  height  as  they  run  to  the  south-east, 
till  at  the  dis^nce  of  four  miles  they  are  merged  in  the  high 
mountains  of  the  Coast  Range.  The  northern  shore  of  the  bay  is 
twenty  miles  distant,  curving  so  far  to  the  west,  that  the  Pacifio 
is  no*  visible  from  any  part  of  the  town.  Eastward,  a  high,  rooky 
ridge,  called  the  Toro  Mountains,  makes  a  prominent  object  in 
the  view,  and  when  the  air  is  clear  the  Sierra  de  Q-avilnn,  beyond 
the  Salinas  plains,  is  distinctly  visible. 

During  my  visit  the  climate  was  mild  and  balmy  beyond  that 
of  the  same  season  in  Italy.  The  temperature  was  that  of  mid- 
May  at  home,  the  sky  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  without  a 
cloud,  and  the  winds  as  pleasant  as  if  tempered  exactly  to  the 
warmth  of  the  blood.  A  thermometer  hanging  in  my  room  only 
varied  between  52°  and  54°,  which  was  about  10°  lower  than  the 
air  without.  The  siroccos  of  San  Francisco  are  unknown  in 
Monterey ;  the  mornings  are  frequently  foggy,  but  it  always 
clears  about  ten  o'clock,  and  remains  so  till  near  sunset.  The 
sky  at  noonday  is  a  pure,  soft  blue. 

The  harbor  of  Monterey  is  equal  to  any  in  California.  The 
bight  in  which  vessels  anchor  is  entirely  protected  from  the  north- 
westers by  Sea-Gull  Point,  and  from  the  south-eastern  winds  by 
mountains  in. the  rear.  In  the  absence  of  light-houses,  the  dense 
fog  renders  navigation  dangerous  on  this  coast,  and  in  spite  of  an 
entrance  twenty-five  miles  in  breath,  vessels  frequently  run  below 
Point  Pinos,  and  are  obliged  to  anchor  on  unsafe  ground  in  Car- 
mel  Bay.  A  road  leads  from  the  town  over  the  hiUs  to  the  ex- 
Mi«wion  of  Carmel,  situated  at  the  head  of  the  bay,  about  fbur 
miles  distant.     Just  beyond  it  is  Point  Lobos,  a  promontory  on 


THS    SROWTH    OF   MONTEREY.  189 

the  coast,  famotui  for  the  number  of  seals  and  sea-Iicns  whioL 
oongregate  there  at  low  tide.  A  light-house  on  Point  Finos  and 
another  on  Point  Lobos  would  be  a  sufficient  protection  to  naviga* 
tion  for  the  present,  and  I  understand  that  the  agents  of  the  GUnr- 
emment  have  recommended  their  erection. 

The  trade  of  Monterey  is  rapidly  on  the  increase.  During  my 
stay  of  five  weeks,  several  houses  were  built,  half  a  dozen  storei 
opened  and  four  hotels  established,  one  of  which  was  kept  by  • 
Chinaman.  There  were  at  least  ten  arrivals  and  departures  of 
vessels,  exclusive  of  the  steamers,  within  that  time,  and  I  was 
credibly  informed  that  the  Collector  of  the  Port  had,  during  the 
previous  five  months,  received  about  $150,000  in  duties.  Pnv 
visions  of  all  kinds  are  cheaper  than  at  San  Francisco,  but 
merchandize  brings  higher  prices.  At  the  Washington  House, 
kept  by  a  former  private  in  Col.  Stevenson's  regiment,  I  obtained 
excellent  board  at  $12  per  week.  The  building,  which  belongs 
to  an  Italian  named  Alberto  Tusconi,  rented  for  $1,200  monthly. 
Rents  of  all  kinds  were  high,  $200  a  month  having  been  paid  for 
rooms  during  the  session  of  the  Convention.  Here,  as  in  San 
Francisco,  there  are  many  striking  instances  of  sudden  prosperity. 
Mr.  Tusconi,  whom  I  have  just  mentioned,  came  out  five  years 
before,  as  a  worker  in  tin.  He  was  without  money,  but  obtained 
the  loan  of  some  sheets  of  tin,  which  he  manufactured  into  cups 
and  sold.  From  this  beginning  he  had  amassed  a  fortune  of 
$50,000,  and  was  rapidly  adding  to  his  gains. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  speculation  in  lots,  and  many  of  th 
aales,  though  far  short  of  the  extravagant  standard  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, were   still   sufficiently  high.     A   lot   seventy-five  feet  by 
twenty-five,  with  a  small  frame  store  upon  it,  was  sold  for  $5,000. 
A  one-story  house,  with  a  lot  about  fifty  by  seventy-five  feet,  in 


140  KLDORADO. 

the  outskirts  of  the  town,  was  held  at  $6,000.  This  was  about 
Ihe  average  rate  of  property,  and  told  well  for  a  town  which  a 
year  previous  was  deserted,  and  which,  only  six  months  before, 
contained  no  accommodations  of  any  kind  for  the  traveler. 

There  is  another  circumstance  which  will  greatly  increase  the 
commercial  importance  of  Monterey.  The  discoveries  of  gold 
mines  and  placers  on  the  Mariposa,  and  the  knowledge  that  gold 
exists  in  large  quantities  on  the  Lake  Fork,  King's  River  and  the 
Pitiima — streams  which  empty  into  the  Tulare  Lakes  on  their 
eastern  side — ^will  hereafter  attract  a  large  portion  of  the  mining 
population  into  that  region.  Hitherto,  the  hostility  of  the  Indiana 
in  the  southern  part  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the  richness  of 
more  convenient  localities,  have  hindered  the  gold  diggers  from 
going  beyond  the  Mariposa.  The  distance  of  these  rivers  from 
San  Francisco,  and  the  great  expense  of  transporting  supplies  to 
the  new  mining  district,  will  naturally  direct  a  portion  of  the  im- 
porting trade  to  some  more  convenient  seaport.  Monterey,  with 
the  best  anchorage  on  the  coast,  is  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
miles  nearer  the  Tulare  Lakes.  By  bridging  a  few  arroyos,  an 
excellent  wagon  road  can  be  made  through  a  pass  in  the  Coast 
Range,  into  the  valley  of  San  Joaquin,  opening  a  direct  communi- 
cation with  the  southern  placers. 

The  removal  of  the  Seat  of  Government  to  the  Pueblo  San 
Jose,  will  not  greatly  affect  the  consequence  of  the  place.  The 
advantages  it  has  lost,  are,  at  most,  a  slight  increase  of  popula- 
tion, and  the  custom  of  the  Legislature  during  its  session.  This 
will  be  made  np  in  a  different  way ;  a  large  proportion  of  the 
mining  population,  now  in  the  mountains,  will  come  down  to  the 
eoast  to  winter  and  recruit  themselves  after  the  hardships  of  th« 
Fall  dicing     Of  these,  Monterey  will  attract  the  greater  portion 


DOMESTIC    LI?E    AND   SOCIETY.  141 

U  well  from  the  salubrity  of  its  climate  as  the  comparative  cheap< 
ness  of  living.  The  same  advantages  will  cause  it  to  be  preferred, 
hereafter,  as  the  residence  of  those  who  have  retired  from  theii 
golden  labors.  The  pine-crowned  slopes  back  of  the  town  ctm 
tain  many  sites  of  unsurpassed  beauty  for  private  residences. 

With  the  exception  of  Los  Angeles,  Monterey  contains  the 
most  pleasant  society  to  be  found  in  California.  There  is  a  circl« 
of  families,  American  and  native,  residing  there,  whose  genial  and 
refined  social  character  makes  one  forget  his  previous  ideas  of 
California  life.  In  spite  of  the  lack  of  cultivation,  except  such 
instruction  as  the  priests  were  competent  to  give,  the  native  popu- 
lation possesses  a  natural  refinement  of  manner  which  would  grace 
the  most  polished  society.  They  acknowledge  their  want  of  edu- 
cation ;  they  tell  you  they  grow  as  the  trees,  with  the  form  and 
character  that  Nature  gives  them  ;  but  even  uncultured  Nature 
in  California  wears  all  the  ripeness  and  maturity  of  older  lands.  I 
have  passed  many  agreeable  hours  in  the  houses  of  the  native 
families.  The  most  favorite  resort  of  Americans  is  that  of  Dofia 
Augusta  Ximeno,  the  sister  of  Don  Pablo  de  la  Guerra.  Thia 
lady,  whose  active  charity  in  aiding  the  sick  and  distressed  has 
won  her  the  enduring  gratitude  of  many  and  the  esteem  of  all,  has 
made  her  house  the  home  of  every  American  officer  who  visits 
Monterey.  With  a  rare  liberality,  she  has  given  up  a  great  part 
of  it  to  their  use,  when  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  procure  quar- 
ters, and  they  have  always  been  welcome  guests  at  her  table.  She 
m  a  woman  whose  nobility  of  character,  native  vigor  and  activity  of 
intellect,  and  above  aU,  whose  instinctive  refinement  and  winning 
grace  of  manner,  would  have  given  her  a  complete  supremacy  in 
society,  had  her  lot  been  cast  in  Europe  or  the  United  States 
During  the  session  of  the  Convention,  her  house  was  the  fiivoritp 


142  E  .DORADO 

rosort  of  all  the  leading  members,  both  Americaa  and  Oalifbr* 
nian.  She  was  thoroughly  versed  in  Spanish  literature,  as  well  as 
the  works  of  Scott  and  Cooper,  through  translations,  and  I  have 
frequently  been  surprised  at  the  justness  and  elegance  of  her  re- 
marks on  various  authors.  She  possessed,  moreover,  all  those 
Ocld  and  daring  qualities  which  are  so  fascinating  in  a  woman, 
when  softened  and  made  graceful  by  true  feminine  delicacy.  She 
was  a  splendid  horsewoman,  and  had  even  considerable  skill  in 
throwing  the  lariat. 

The  houses  of  Seflor  Soveranez  and  Sefior  Abrego  were  also 
much  visited  by  Americans.  The  former  gentleman  served  as  a 
Captain  in  Mexico  during  the  war,  bat  since  then  has  subsided  into 
a  good  American  citizen.  Seflor  Abrego,  who  is  of  Mexican  origin, 
was  the  most  industrious  Californian  I  saw  in  the  country.  Within 
a  few  years  he  had  amassed  a  large  fortune,  which  was  in  no  danger 
of  decreasing.  I  attended  an  evening  party  at  his  house,  which 
was  as  lively  and  agreeable  as  any  occasion  of  the  kind  well  could 
be.  There  was  a  tolerable  piano  in  his  little  parlor,  on  which  a 
lady  from  Sydney,  Australia,  played  "  Non  piu  mesta"  with  a  good 
deal  of  taste.  Two  American  gentlemen  gave  us  a  few  choice  flute 
duetts,  and  the  entertainment  closed  by  a  quadrille  and  polka,  in 
which  a  little  son  of  Sefior  Abrego  figured,  to  the  general  admira- 
tion. 

The  old  and  tranquil  look  of  Monterey,  before  the  discovery  of 
the  placers,  must  have  seemed  remarkable  to  visitors  from  the 
Atlantic  side  of  the  Continent.  The  serene  beauty  of  the  climate 
tad  soft,  vaporous  atmosphere,  hare  nothing  in  common  with  one 'a 
ideas  of  a  new,  scarce-colonized  coast ;  the  animals,  even,  are  those 
of  the  old,  civilized  countries  of  Europe.  Flocks  of  ravens  croak 
6om  the  tiled  roo&,  and  cluster  on  the  long  adobe  walls  ;  magpies 


ftUIEl     OF    THE    TOWN POPULATION  143 

chatter  in  the  clumps  of  gnai-led  oak  on  the  hills,  and  as  you  pasa 
through  the  forest,  hares  start  up  from  their  coverts  under  th« 
bearded  pines.  The  quantity  of  blackbiids  about  the  place  is  as 
tonishing ;  in  the  mornings  they  wheel  in  squadrons  about  every 
ouse-top,  and  fill  the  air  with  their  twitter. 

But  for  the  interest  occasioned  by  the  Convention,  and  the  socia] 
impulse  given  to  Monterey  by  the  presence  of  its  members,  the 
town  would  hardly  have  furnished  an  incident  marked  enough  to 
be  remembered.  Occasionally  there  was  an  arrival  at  the  anchor- 
age— generally  from  San  Francisco,  San  Diego  or  Australia — 
which  furnished  talk  for  a  day  or  two.  Then  some  resident  woula 
give  &  fandango,  which  the  whole  town  attended,  or  the  Alcalde 
would  decree  a  general  horn-hurning.  This  was  nothing  less  than 
the  collecting  of  all  the  horns  and  heads  of  slaughtered  animals, 
scatteied  about  the  streets,  into  large  piles,  which  burned  through 
half  the  night,  filling  the  air  with  a  most  unpleasant  odor.  When 
the  atmosphere  happened  to  be  a  little  misty,  the  red  light  of  these 
fires  was  thrown  far  up  along  the  hills. 

I  learned  some  very  interesting  facts  during  my  stay,  relative  to 
the  products  of  California.  Wisconsin  has  always  boasted  of  rais- 
ing the  largest  crops  of  talking  humanity,  but  she  will  have  to 
yield  the  palm  to  the  new  Pacific  State,  where  the  increase  of 
population  is  entirely  without  precedent.  A  native  was  pointed 
out  to  me  one  day  as  the  father  of  thirty-six  children,  twenty  of 
irhom  were  the  product  of  his  first  marriage,  and  sixteen  of  hia 
last  Mr.  Hartnell,  the  Government  translator,  has  a  family  oi 
twenty-one  children.  Sefior  Abrego,  who  had  been  married  twelve 
years,  already  counted  as  many  heirs.  Several  other  eouples  in 
the  plaoe  had  from  twelve  to  eighteen  ;  and  the  former  number,  1 
was  told,  is  the  usual  size  of  a  family  in  California.     WhetJier  or 


144  ELDOKADO 

not  this  remarkable  fecundity  is  attributable  to  the  climate,  I  an: 
onable  to  tell. 

The  Californians,  as  a  race,  are  vastly  superior  to  the  Mexicans 
They  have  larger  frames,  stronger  muscle,  and  a  fresh,  ruddy  com- 
plexion, entirely  different  from  the  sallow  skins  of  the  tierra  ca- 
Kente  or  the  swarthy  features  of  those  Bedouins  of  the  West,  the 
Sonorians.  The  families  of  pure  Castilian  blood  resemble  in  fea- 
tures and  build,  the  descendants  of  the  Valencians  in  Chili  and 
Mexico,  whose  original  physical  superiority  over  the  natives  of  the 
other  provinces  of  Spain,  has  not  been  obliterated  by  two  hundred 
years  of  transplanting.  Seflor  Soveranez  informed  me  that  the 
Californian  soldiers,  on  account  of  this  physical  distinction,  were 
nicknamed  "  Americanos"  by  the  Mexicans.  They  have  no  na- 
tional feeling  in  common  with  the  latter,  and  will  never  forgive 
the  cowardly  deportment  of  the  Sonorians  toward  them,  during  the 
recent  war.  Their  superior  valor,  as  soldiers,  was  amply  expe 
rienced  by  our  own  troops,  at  the  battle  of  San  Pasquale. 

I  do  not  believe,  however,  that  the  majority  of  the  native  popu- 
lation rejoices  at  the  national  change  which  has  come  over  the 
country.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  much  jealousy  and  bitter  feel- 
ing among  the  uneducated  classes.  The  vast  tides  of  emigration 
from  the  A  tlantic  States  thrice  outnumbered  them  in  a  single  year, 
and  consequently  placed  them  forever  in  a  hopeless  minority. 
They  witnessed  the  immediate  extinction  of  their  own  political 
importance,  and  the  introduction  of  a  new  language,  new  customs, 
wl  new  laws  It  is  not  strange  that  many  of  them  should  be  op- 
poited  to  us  at  heart,  even  while  growing  wealthy  and  prosperous 
under  the  marvellous  change  which  has  been  wrought  by  the  en- 
terprise of  our  citizens.  Nevertheless,  we  have  many  warm  friends, 
and  the  United  States  many  faithful  subjects,  among  Aerw      The 


NATIONAL    FEELING    IN    CALIFORNIA.  145 

intelligent  and  influential  faction  which  aided  us  during  the  war, 
is  still  faithful,  and  many  who  were  previously  discontented,  are 
now  loudest  in  their  rejoicing.  Our  authorities  have  acted  toward 
them  with  constant  and  impartial  kindness.  By  pursuing  a  similar 
course,  the  future  governn^eat  of  the  State  will  soon  obliterate  the 
diflferences  of  race  and  condition,  and  all  will  then  be  equally  Cal 
ifornian  and  American  citizens. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    STATE    ORGANIZATION    OF    C ALIFORM lA. 

In  soir.e  respects,  the  political  history  of  California  for  the  yoai 
1849,  is  without  a  parallel  in  the  annals  of  any  nation.  The 
events  are  too  recent  for  us  to  see  them  in  the  clear,  defined  out- 
lines they  will  exhibit  to  posterity ;  we  can  only  describe  them  aa 
they  occurred,  throwing  the  strongest  light  on  those  points  which 
now  appear  most  prominent. 

The  discovery  of  the  Gold  Region  of  California  occurred  in  little 
more  than  a  month  after  the  Treaty  of  Guadalupe  Hidalgo,  by 
which  the  country  was  ceded  to  the  United  States.  Congress 
having  adjourned  without  making  provision  for  any  kind.of  civil 
organization,  the  Military  Government  established  during  the  war 
continued  in  force,  in  conjunction  with  the  local  laws  in  force  under 
the  Mexican  rule — a  most  incongruous  state  of  things,  which  gave 
rise  to  innumerable  embarrassments.  Meanwhile,  the  results  of 
the  gold  discovery  produced  a  complete  revolution  in  society,  up 
turning  all  branches  of  trade,  industry  or  office,  and  for  a  tinio 
aompletely  annulling  the  Government.  Mexico  and  the  South 
American  republics  sent  their  thousands  of  adventurers  into  the 
country  like  a  flood,  far  outnumbering  the  native  population 
Daring  the  winter  of  1848-9,  the  state  of  aflFairs  was  most  critical 


STEPS    TOWARD    ORGANIZATION  ^47 

the  Ajne}ican  and  foreign  miners  were  embittered  against  eacb 
other  ;  the  authorities  were  without  power  to  enforce  their  orders, 
and  there  seemed  no  check  to  restrain  the  free  exercise  of  all  law- 
less passions.  There  was  a  check,  however — the  steady  integrity 
ind  inborn  capacity  for  creating  and  upholding  Law,  of  a  portion 
of  the  old  American  settlers  and  emigrants  newly  arrived.  A 
single  spark  of  Order  will  in  time  irradiate  and  warm  into  shape  a 
world  of  disorderly  influences. 

In  the  neglect  of  Congress  to  provide  for  the  establishment  of 
a  Territorial  Government,  it  was  at  first  suggested  that  the  People 
should  provisionally  organize  such  a  Government  among  themselves. 
Various  proposals  were  made,  but  before  any  decisive  action  was 
had  on  the  subject,  another  and  more  appropriate  form  was  given 
to  the  movement,  chiefly  through  the  labor  and  influence  of  a  few 
individuals,  who  were  countenanced  by  the  existing  authorities. 
This  was,  to  call  a  Convention  for  the  purpose  of  drafting  a  State 
Constitution,  that  California  might  at  once  be  admitted  into  tha 
Union,  without  passing  through  the  usual  Territorial  stage — leap- 
ing with  one  bound,  as  it  were,  from  a  state  of  semi-civilization  to 
be  the  Thirty-First  Sovereign  Republic  of  the  American  Confede- 
racy. The  vast  influx  of  emigration  had  already  increased  the 
population  beyond  the  required  number,  and  the  unparalleled  speed 
with  which  Labor  and  Commerce  were  advancing  warranted  such 
a  course,  no  less  than  the  important  natural  resources  of  the 
soontry  itself.  The  result  of  this  movement  was  a  proclamation 
from  Gov.  Riley,  recommending  that  an  election  of  Delegates  to 
form  such  a  Convention  be  held  on  the  first  of  August,  1849. 

Gen.  Riley,  the  Civil  Governor  appointed  by  the  United  States, 
GKjn.  Smith,  and  Mr.  T.  Butler  King,  during  a  tour  through  the 
mining  districts  in  the  early  part  of  summer,  took  every  oooasiov 


148  KLDOHADa 

to  interest  the  people  in  the  sabject,  and  stimtilate  them  to  hold 
preparatory  meetings.  The  possibilitj  of  calling  together  and 
keeping  together  a  body  of  men,  many  of  whom  mnst  necessarily 
be  deeply  involved  in  business  and  speculation,  was  at  first  strongly 
doubted.  In  fact,  in  some  of  the  districts  named  in  the  procla- 
mation, scarcely  any  move  was  made  till  a  few  days  before  the  day 
of  election.  It  was  only  necessary,  however,  to  kindle  the  flame ; 
the  intelligence  and  liberal  public  spirit  existing  throughout  the 
country,  kept  it,  alive,  and  the  election  passed  over  with  complete 
saccess.  In  one  or  two  instances  it  was  not  held  on  the  day  ap- 
pointed, but  the  Convention  nevertheless  admitted  the  delegates 
elected  in  such  cases. 

Party  politics  had  but  a  small  part  to  play  in  the  choice  of  can- 
didates. In  the  San  Francisco  and  Sacramento  districts  there 
might  have  been  some  influences  of  this  kind  afloat,  and  other  dis 
triots  undoubtedly  sent  members  to  advocate  some  particular 
local  interest.  But,  taken  as  a  body,  the  delegates  did  honor  to 
California,  and  would  not  sufffer  by  comparison  with  any  first  State 
Convention  ever  held  in  our  Republic.  I  may  add,  also,  that  a 
perfect  harmony  of  feeling  existed  between  the  citizens  of  both 
races.  The  proportion  of  native  Califomian  members  to  the 
American  was  about  equal  to  that  of  the  population.  Some  of  the 
former  received  nearly  the  entire  American  vote — Gen.  Vallej« 
at  Sonoma,  Antonio  Pico  at  San  Jose,  and  Miguel  de  Pedrorena 
at  San  Diego,  for  instance. 

The  elections  were  all  over,  at  the  time  of  my  arrival  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  the  1st  of  September  had  been  appointed  as  the  day  on 
irhioh  the  Convention  should  meet.  It  was  my  intention  to  hava 
been  present  at  that  time,  but  I  did  not  succeed  in  reaching  Monte- 
rey until  the  19th  of  the  month.    The  Convention  was  not  regularly 


THE    CONVENTION    MEETS.  149 

organized  until  the  4th,  when  Dr.  Eobert  Semplu,  of  the  Sonoma 
District,  was  chosen  President  and  conducted  to  his  seat  bj 
Capt.  Sutter  and  Gen.  Vallejo.  Capt.  William  G.  Marcy,  of  the 
New-York  Volunteer  Regiment,  was  elected  Secretary,  after 
which  the  various  post  of  Clerks,  Assistant  Secretaries,  Transit- 
tors,  Doorkeeper,  Sergeant-at-Arms,  etc.,  were  filled.  The  day 
after  their  complete  organization,  the  officers  and  members  of  the 
Convention  were  sworn  to  support  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States.  The  members  from  the  Southern  Districts  were  instruct- 
ed to  vote  in  favor  of  a  Territorial  form  of  Government,  but  ex- 
pressed their  willingness  to  abide  the  decision  of  the  Convention. 
An  invitation  was  extended  to  the  Clergy  of  Monterey  to  open 
the  meeting  with  prayer,  and  that  ollce  was  thenceforth  performed 
on  alternate  days  by  Padre  Ramirez  and  Rev.  S.  H.  Willey. 

The  building  in  wliich  the  Convention  met  was  probably 
the  only  one  in  California  suited  to  the  purpose.  It  is  a 
handsome,  two-story  edifice  of  yellow  sandstone,  situated  on 
a  gentle  slope,  above  the  town  It  is  named  "  Colton  Hall," 
on  account  of  its  having  been  built  by  Don  Walter  Colton, 
former  Alcalde  of  Monterey,  from  the  proceeds  of  a  sale  of  city 
lots.  The  stone  of  which  it  is  built  is  found  in  abundance  near 
Monterey;  it  is  of  a  fine,  mellow  color,  easily  cut,  and  will  last 
for  centuries  in  that  mild  climate.  The  upper  story,  in  which 
the  Convention  sat,  formed  a  single  hall  about  sixty  feet  in 
length  by  twenty-five  in  breadth.  A  railing,  running  across 
the  middle,  divided  the  members  from  the  spectators.  The 
former  were  seated  at  four  long  tables,  the  President  occu- 
pying a  rostrum  at  the  further  end,  over  which  were  sus- 
pended two  American  flags  and  an  extraordinary  picture 
of  Washington,  evidently  the  work  of  a  native  artist.  The 
appearance  of  the  whole  body  was  exceedingly  dignified  and 


150  ELDORADO. 

intellectual,  and  parliamentary  decorum  was  strioilj  observed 
A  door  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  opened  on  a  square  balcony,  sup- 
ported by  four  pillars,  where  some  of  the  members,  weary  with 
debate,  came  frequently  to  enjoy  the  mild  September  afternoon^ 
whose  hues  lay  so  softly  on  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay. 

The  Declaration  of  Rights,  which  was  the  first  subject  before 
the  Convention,  occasioned  little  discussion.  Its  sections  being 
general  in  their  character  and  of  a  liberal  republican  cast,  were 
nearly  all  adopted  by  a  nearly  unanimous  vote.  The  clause  pro- 
hibiting Slavery  was  met  by  no  word  of  dissent ;  it  was  the  uni- 
versal sentiment  of  the  Convention.  It  is  unnecessary  to  reoa- 
pitulaic  here  the  various  provisions  of  the  Constitution  ;  it  will  be 
enough  to  say  tLa^  they  combined,  with  few  exceptions,  the  most 
enlightened  features  of  the  Constitutions  of  older  States.  The 
election  of  Judges  by  the  people — ^the  rights  of  married  women  to 
property — the  establishment  of  a  liberal  system  of  education — and 
other  reforms  of  late  introduced  into  the  State  Governments  easi 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  were  all  transplanted  to  the  new  soil  of 
the  Pacific  Coast. 

The  adoption  of  a  system  of  pay  for  the  officers  and  memberb 
of  the  Convention,  occasioned  some  discussion.  The  Californian 
members  and  a  few  of  the  Americans  patriotically  demanded  that 
the  Convention  should  work  for  nothing,  the  glory  being  sufficient 
The  majority  overruled  this,  and  finally  decided  that  the  mem- 
bers should  receive  $16  per  day,  the  President  $25,  tie  5ecre 
tary  and  Interpreter  $28,  the  Clerks  $23  and  $18,  the  Chaplaiij 
$16,  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  $22  and  the  Doorkeeper  $12.  The 
expenses  of  the  Convention  were  paid  out  of  the  "  Civil  Fund," 
kQ  accumulation  of  the  duties  received  at  the  ports.  The  fanda 
irere  principally  silver,  and  at  the  close  of  their  labors  it  was 


THE    dUESTION    OF   SUFFRAGE  161 

unjasiiig  to  see  the  members  carrying  their  pay  about  town  tied 
ap  in  handkerchiefs  or  slung  in  bags  over  their  shoulders.  The 
little  Irish  boy,  who  acted  as  page,  was  nearly  pressed  down  by 
the  weight  of  his  wages. 

One  of  the  first  exciting  questions  was  a  clause  which  had  beea 
crammed  throtigh  the  Convention  on  its  first  reading,  prohibiting 
the  ei.trance  of  free  people  of  color  into  the  state.  Its  originator 
was  an  Oregon  man,  more  accustomed  to  and  better  fitted  for 
squatter  life  than  the  dignity  of  legislation.  The  members,  by 
the  time  it  was  brought  up  for  second  reading,  had  thought  more 
seriously  upon  the  question,  and  the  clause  was  rejected  by  a  large 
majority  :  several  attempts  to  introduce  it  in  a  modified  form  also 
signally  failed. 

It  was  a  matter  of  regret  that  the  question  of  suffrage  could  not 
have  been  settled  in  an  equitable  and  satisfactory  manner.  The 
article  first  adopted  by  the  Convention,  excluding  Indians  and 
Negroes,  with  their  descendants,  from  the  privilege  of  voting,  was, 
indeed,  modified  by  a  proviso  offered  by  Mr.  de  la  Guerra,  which 
gave  the  Legislature  the  power  of  admitting  Indians  or  the  de- 
scendants of  Indians,  by  a  two-thirds  concurrent  vote,  to  the 
right  of  suffiage.  This  was  agreed  to  by  many  merely  for  the 
purpose  of  settling  the  question  for  the  present ;  but  the  native 
members  will  not  be  content  to  let  it  rest.  Many  of  the  most 
wealthy  and  respectable  families  in  California  have  Indian  blood 
in  their  veins,  and  even  a  member  of  the  Convention,  Dominguei, 
would  be  excluded  from  voting  under  this  very  clause. 

The  Articles  of  the  Constitution  relating  to  the  Executive,  Ju- 
dicial and  Legislative  Departments  occupied  several  days,  but  the 
debates  were  dry  and  uninteresting.  A  great  deal  of  talk  was  ex- 
pended to  no  poipoBO,  several  of  the  members  having  the  sai»< 


l58  BLDORAQO. 

morbid  ambition  in  this  respect,  as  may  be  found  in  oar  legisl» 
tive  assemblies  on  this  side  of  the  mountains.  A  member  from 
Sacramento  severely  tried  the  patience  of  the  Convention  by  hie 
lorg  harangues ;  another  was  clamorous,  not  for  his  own  rights  bul 
those  of  his  constituents,  although  the  latter  were  suspected  of 
being  citizens  of  Oregon.  The  Chair  occasionally  made  a  bung- 
ling decision,  whereupon  two  of  the  members,  who  had  previously 
served  in  State  Assemblies,  would  aver  that  in  the  whole  course 
of  their  legislative  experience  they  had  never  heard  of  such  & 
thing.  Now  and  then  a  scene  occurred,  which  was  amusing 
enough.  A  section  being  before  the  Convention,  declaring  that 
every  citizen  arrested  for  a  criminal  offence  should  be  tried  by  a 
jury  of  his  peers,  a  member,  unfamiliar  with  such  technical  terms, 
moved  to  strike  out  the  word  "  peers."  "  I  don't  like  that  word 
'  peers,' "  said  he  ;  "  it  a'int  republican  ;  I'd  like  to  know  what 
we  want  with  peers  in  this  country — we're  not  a  monarchy,  and 
we've  got  no  House  of  Parliament.     I  vote  for  no  such  law." 

The  boundary  question,  however,  which  came  up  towards  the 
close  of  the  Convention,  assumed  a  character  of  real  interest  and 
importance.  The  great  point  of  dispute  on  this  question  was  the 
eastern  limit  of  the  State,  the  Pacific  being  the  natural  boundary 
on  the  West,  the  meridian  of  42°  on  the  North,  and  the  Mexi- 
can line,  run  in  conformity  with  the  treaty  of  Queretaro,  on 
the  South.  Mr.  Hastings,  a  member  from  Sacramento,  moved 
that  the  eastern  boundary,  beginning  at  the  parallel  of  42°,  should 
follow  the  meridian  of  118°  W.  long,  to  38°  N.  thence  running 
direct  to  the  intersection  of  the  Colorado  with  114°  W.  following 
fhii  river  to  the  Mexican  line.  This  was  proposed  late  on  Mon- 
day night,  and  hurried  through  by  a  bare  majority.  Messi's 
Gwin  and  Hallcck,  of  the  Boundary  Committee,  with  all  the  Call 


TROUBLE  ABOUT  THE  BOUXDABY.  163 

rornlan  aiembers,  and  some  others,  opposed  this  propos.tion, 
claiming  that  the  original  Spanish  boundary,  extending  to  the  line 
of  New  Mexico,  should  be  adopted.  With  some  difficulty  a  re- 
consideration of  the  vote  was  obtained,  and  the  House  adjoumod 
without  settling  the  (^'lestion. 

The  discussion  commenced  in  earnest  the  next  morning.  The 
members  were  all  present,  and  as  the  parties  were  nearly  balanced 
the  contest  was  very  animated  and  excited.  It  assumed,  in  feet, 
more  of  a  party  character  than  any  which  had  previously  come  up. 
The  grounds  taken  by  the  party  desiring  the  whole  territory  were 
that  the  Convention  had  no  right  to  assume  another  boundary 
than  that  originally  belonging  to  California ;  that  the  measure 
would  extend  the  advantages  and  protecting  power  of  law  over  a 
vast  inland  territory,  which  would  otherwise  remain  destitute  of 
such  protection  for  many  years  to  come ;  that,  finally,  it  would 
settle  the  question  of  Slavery  for  a  much  greater  extent  of  terri- 
tory, and  in  a  quiet  and  peaceful  manner.  The  opposite  par^ — 
that  which  advocates  the  Sierra  Nevada  as  the  boundary  line — 
contended  that  the  r*onstitution  had  no  right  to  include  the  Mor- 
mon settlers  in  the  Great  Salt  Lake  country  in  a  State,  whose 
Constitution  they  had  no  share  in  forming,  and  that  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  country  east  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  was  little  better 
than  a  desert. 

After  a  hot  discussion,  which  lasted  the  whole  day,  the  vote 
was  reversed,  and  the  report  of  the  Boundary  Committee  (includ- 
ing all  the  Territory  as  far  as  New  Mexico)  adopted.  The  oppo- 
«iticn  party,  defeated  after  they  were  sure  of  success,  showed  thci? 
ihagrin  rather  noisily.  At  the  announcement  of  the  vote,  a 
iozen  members  jumped  up,  speaking  and  shouting  in  the  most 
'sonfhsed  and  disorderly  manner.     Some  rushed  out  of  the  room 


104  ELDORADO. 

others  moved  an  adjournment ;  others  again  protested  they  woali 
sign  no  Constitution,  embodying  such  a  provision.  In  the  midst 
of  this  tumult  the  House  adjoiu-ned.  The  defeated  party  weie 
active  throughout,  and  procured  a  second  reconsideration.  Major 
Hill,  delegate  from  San  Diego,  then  proposed  the  following  boun- 
dary :  a  line  starting  from  the  Mexican  Boundary  and  following 
the  course  of  the  Colorado  to  lat.  35°  N.,  thence  due  north  to  the 
Oregon  Boundary.  Such  a  line,  according  to  the  opinion  of  both 
Capt.  Sutter  and  Gen.  Vallejo,  was  the  limit  set  by  the  Mexican 
Government  to  the  civil  jurisdiction  of  California.  It  divides  the 
Great  Central  Basin  about  two-thirds  of  the  distance  between  the 
Sierra  Nevada  and  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  This  proposition  was 
adopted,  but  fell  through  on  second  reading,  when  the  boundary 
which  had  first  passed  was  readopted  by  a  large  vote.  When  il 
came  to  be  designated  on  the  map,  most  of  the  members  were 
better  satisfied  than  they  had  anticipated.  They  had  a  State  with 
eight  hundred  miles  of  sea-coast  and  an  average  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  in  breadth,  including  both  sides  of  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada and  some  of  the  best  rivers  of  the  Great  Basin.  As  to  the 
q^uestion  of  Slavery,  it  will  never  occasion  much  trouble.  The 
whole  Central  Region,  extending  to  the  Sierra  Madre  of  New 
Mexico,  will  never  sustain  a  slave  population.  The  greater  part 
of  it  resembles  in  climate  and  general  features  the  mountain 
steppes  of  Tartary,  and  is  better  adapted  for  grazing  than  agricul- 
ture. It  will  never  be  settled  so  long  as  an  acre  of  the  rich  loam 
of  Oregon  or  the  warm  wheat-plains  of  California  is  left  inten- 
Mited. 

One  of  the  subjects  that  came  up  about  this  time  was  the  de- 
rign  of  a  Great  Seal  for  the  State.  There  were  plenty  of  ideas  in 
the  heads  of  the  members,  but  few  draughtsmen,  and  of  the  eighl 


tHE   GREAT    SEAL   OF   THE   STATE.  166 

or  ten  designs  presented,  some  were  ludicrous  cnou^.  The 
choice  finally  fell  upon  one  drawn  by  Major  Gameti  which  was, 
In  reality,  the  best  offered.  The  principal  figure  is  Minerva,  with 
her  spaar  and  Gorgon  shield,  typical  of  the  manner  in  which 
California  was  born,  full-grown,  into  the  Confederacy.  At  hei 
feet  crouches  a  grizzly  bear,  certainly  no  very  appropriate  sup- 
porter for  the  Gorgon  shield.  The  wheat-sheaf  and  vine  before 
him  Illustrate  the  principal  agricultural  products  of  the  country, 
and  are  in  good  keeping — ^for  Ceres  sat  beside  Minerva  in  th« 
councils  of  the  gods.  Near  at  band  is  a  miner  with  his  imple- 
ments, in  the  distance  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  and  still  ftu-- 
ther  the  Sierra  Nevada,  over  which  appears  the  single  word : 
"  Eureka  !" 

The  discussion  on  the  subject  was  most  amusing.  None  of  the 
designs  seemed  at  first  to  tally  with  the  taste  of  the  Convention, 
as  each  district  was  anxious  to  be  particularly  represented.  The 
Sacramento  members  wanted  the  gold  mines ;  the  San  Francisco 
members  wanted  the  harbor  and  shipping ;  the  Sonoma  members 
thought  no  seal  could  be  lawful  without  some  reminder  of  their 
^uted  "  bear  flag  ;"  while  the  Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego  members 
were  clamorous  for  the  rights  of  their  vines,  olives  and  wild  horses 
— so  that,  no  doubt,  the  seal  they  chose  was  the  most  satisfactory 
to  all.  The  sum  of  $1,000  was  voted  to  Mr.  Lyon,  one  of  the 
Secretaries,  for  the  purpose  of  having  it  engraved.  The  Conven- 
tion also  voted  the  sum  of  ^10,000  to  Mr.  J  Ross  Browne,  its 
reporter,  on  his  contracting  to  furnish  one  thousand  printed 
copies  of  the  entire  proceedings  in  English  and  three  hundred  in 
Spanish.  This  sum  also  included  the  remuneration  for  his  labors 
%a  a  stenographer. 

After  discussing  varioas  plans  for  meeting  the  expenses  of  the 


1^  GLDOttAbO. 

State,  at  the  outset,  an  ordinance  was  adopted,  (sul  ject  to  the 
action  of  Congress,)  the  substance  of  which  was  as  follows  : 

1.  One  section  out  of  every  quarter  township  of  the  public  lands 
shall  be  granted  to  the  State  for  the  use  of  the  schools.  2.  Sev- 
enty-two sections  of  unappropriated  land  within  the  State  shall  b« 
granted  to  the  State  for  the  establishment  and  support  of  a  Uni* 
yersity.  3.  Foiir  sections,  selected  under  direction  of  the  Legisla- 
ture, shall  be  granted  for  the  use  of  the  State  in  establishing  a 
Seat  of  Government  and  erecting  buildings.  4.  Five  hundred 
thousand  acres  of  public  lands,  in  addition  to  the  same  amount 
granted  to  new  States,  shall  be  granted  for  the  purpose  of  defray- 
ing the  expenses  of  the  State  Government.  And  five  per  cent,  of 
the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  public  lands,  after  deducting  expenses, 
shall  be  given  for  the  encouragement  of  learning.  5.  All  salt 
springs,  with  the  land  adjoining,  shall  be  granted  to  the  use  of  the 
State. 

It  may  probably  be  thought,  on  reading  these  various  provisions 
for  the  filling  of  the  State  Treasury,  that  the  appetite  for  gold 
must  surely  grow  by  what  it  feeds  on.  California,  nevertheless, 
bad  some  reason  for  making  so  many  exacting  demands.  The 
expenses  of  the  Government,  at  the  start,  will  necessarily  be  enor- 
mous ;  and  the  price  of  labor  so  far  exceeds  the  value  of  real 
estate,  that  the  ordinary  tax  on  property  would  scarcely  be  a  drop 
in  the  bucket.  The  cost  of  erecting  buildings  and  supporting  the 
various  branches  of  government  will  greatly  surpass  that  to  which 
any  state  has  ever  been  subjected.  In  paying  the  expenses  of  the 
Convention  from  the  Civil  Fund,  Gov.  Riley  in  many  instances 
took  upon  himself  weighty  responsibilities  ;  but  the  circumstances 
inder  which  he  acted  were  entirely  without  precedent.  Hia 
ocurse  was  marked  throughout  by  great  prudence  and  good  sense 


DISTINGUISHED    CALIF0RNIAN8.  197 

Towaids  the  close  of  the  Conyention,  those  of  the  memben 
who  aspired  to  still  further  honor,  commenced  caucusing  and 
Jhe  canvassing  of  influence  for  the  coming  election.  Several 
announced  themselves  as  candidates  for  various  offices,  and 
in  spite  of  vehement  disclaimers  to  the  contrary  the  lines  of  old 
parties  were  secretly  diawn.  Nevertheless,  it  is  impossible  at 
present  to  pronounce  correctly  on  the  political  character  of  the 
State ;  it  will  take  some  time  for  the  native  Califomians  to  be 
drilled  into  the  new  harness,  and  I  suspect  they  will  frequently 
bold  the  balance  of  power. 

One  of  the  most  intelligent  and  influential  of  the  Califomians  is 
Gen.  Mariano  Guadalupe  Vallejo,  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  several  times  during  my  stay  in  Monterey.  As  Militaiy 
Commandant,  during  the  Governorship  of  Alvarado,  he  exercised 
almost  supreme  sway  over  the  country.  He  is  a  man  of  forty-five 
years  of  age,  tall  and  of  a  commanding  presence  ;  his  head  is  large, 
forehead  high  and  ample,  and  eyes  dark,  with  a  grave,  dignified 
expression.  He  is  better  acquainted  with  our  institutions  and 
laws  than  any  other  native  Califomian. 

Among  the  other  notable  members  were  Covarrubias,  formerly 
Secretary  of  Government,  and  Jose  Antonio  Carrillo,  the  right- 
hand  man  of  Pio  Pico.  The  latter  is  upward  of  fifty-five  years 
of  age — a  small  man  with  frizzled  hair  and  beard,  gray  eyes,  and 
a  face  strongly  expressive  of  shrewdness  and  mistrust.  I  saw 
him,  one  day,  dining  at  a  restaurant  with  Gen.  Castro — the 
redoubtable  leader  of  the  Califomian  troops,  in  Upper  and  Lower 
California.  Castro  is  a  man  of  medram  height,  but  stoutly  and 
strongly  made.  He  has  a  very  handsome  face  ;  his  eyes  are  large 
and  dark,  and  his  mouth  is  shaded  by  moustaches  with  the  glosf 
and  color  of  a  raven's  wing,  meeting  on  each  side  with  his  whis- 


Ifi6  ELDORADO. 

kers  He  wore  the  sombrero,  jacket  and  calzoneros  of  the  ooun* 
try.  His  temperament,  as  I  thought,  seemed  gloomy  and  satur- 
nine, and  I  was  gravely  informed  by  a  Californian  who  sat  oppo- 
nte  me,  that  he  meditated  the  reconquest  of  the  country  ! 

Capt.  Sutter's  appearance  and  manners  quite  agreed  with  my 
preconceived  ideas  of  him.  He  is  still  the  hale,  blue-eyed,  jovial 
German — short  and  stout  of  stature,  with  broad  forehead,  head 
bald  to  the  crown,  and  altogether  a  ruddy,  good-humored  expres- 
sion of  countenance.  He  is  a  man  of  good  intellect,  excellent 
common  sense  and  amiable  qualities  of  heart.  A  little  more 
activity  and  enterprise  might  have  made  him  the  first  maa  is 
Oalifornia,  in  point  of  wealth  and  infiuence. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    CONVENTION. 

The  day  and  night  immediately  preceding  the  dissolution 
of  the  Convention  far  exceeded  in  interest  all  the  former 
period  of  its  existence.  I  know  not  how  I  can  better  describe 
the  closing  scenes  than  by  the  account  which  I  penned  on 
the  spot,  at  the  time  : 

The  Convention  yesterday  fOctober  12)  gave  token  of  bringing 
its  labors  to  a  close  ;  the  morning  session  was  short  and  devoted 
only  to  the  passing  of  various  miscellaneous  provisions,  after  which 
an  adjournment  was  made  until  this  morning,  on  account  of  the 
Ball  given  by  the  Convention  to  the  citizens  of  Monterey.  The 
members,  by  a  contribution  of  $25  each,  raised  the  sum  of  $1,100 
to  provide  for  the  entertainment,  which  was  got  up  in  return  for 
that  given  by  the  citizens  about  four  weeks  since. 

The  Hall  was  cleared  of  the  forum  and  tables  and  decorated 
with  young  pines  from  the  forest.  At  each  end  were  the  American 
eolors,  tastefully  disposed  across  the  boughs.  Three  chandeliers, 
neither  of  bronze  nor  cut-glass,  but  neat  and  brilliant  withal, 
poured  their  light  on  the  festivities.  At  eight  o'clock — the 
fasb*  unable  ball-hour  in  Monterey — the  guests  began  to  assemble, 
and  in  an  hour  afterward  the  Hall  was  crowded  with  nearly  all  tha 


160  ELDORADO. 

Californian  and  American  residents.  There  were  sixty  or  seventy 
ladies  present,  and  an  equal  number  of  gentlemen,  in  addition  to 
the  members  of  the  Convention.  The  dark-eyed  daughters  ol 
Monterey,  Los  Angeles  and  Santa  Barbara  mingled  in  pleasing 
contrast  with  the  fairer  bloom  of  the  trans-Nevadian  belles.  The 
variety  of  feature  and  complexion  was  fully  equalled  by  the  variety 
of  dress.  In  the  whirl  of  the  waltz,  a  plain,  dark,  nun-like  robe 
would  be  followed  by  one  of  pink  satin  and  gauze ;  next,  perhaps 
a  bodice  of  scarlet  velvet  with  gold  buttons,  and  then  a  rich 
figured  brocade,  such  as  one  sees  on  the  stately  dames  of  Titian. 

The  dresses  of  the  gentlemen  showed  considerable  variety,  hui 
were  much  less  picturesque.  A  complete  ball-dress  was  a  happi- 
ness attained  only  by  the  fortunate  few.  White  kids  could  not  be 
had  in  Monterey  for  love  or  money  and  as  much  as  $50  was  paid 
by  one  gentleman  for  a  pair  of  patent-leather  boots.  Scarcely  a 
single  drees  that  was  seen  belonged  entirely  to  its  wearer,  and  I 
thought,  if  the  clothes  had  power  to  leap  severally  back  to  their 
respective  owners,  some  persons  would  have  been  in  a  state  ol 
atter  destitution.  For  my  part,  I  was  indebted  for  pantaloons  and 
vest  to  obliging  friends.  The  only  specimen  of  the  former  article 
which  I  could  get,  belonged  to  an  officer  whose  weight  was  consi- 
derably more  than  two  hundred,  but  I  managed  to  accommodate 
them  to  my  proportions  by  a  liberal  use  of  pins,  notwithstanding 
the  difference  of  size.  Thus  equipped,  with  a  buflF  military  vest, 
ftnd  worsted  gaiters  with  very  square  toes,  I  took  my  way  to  the 
HaH  in  company  with  Major  Smith  and  his  brother. 

The  appeai-ance  of  the  company,  nevertheless,  was  genteel  anJ 
respectable,  and  perhaps  the  genial,  unrestrained  social  spirit  that 
possessed  all  present  would  have  been  less  had  there  been  mor« 
aniformity  of  costume.     Gen.  Riley  was  there  in  full  uniform. 


A    BALL-ROOM    PICICRE.  161 

mth  the  yellow  sash  he  won  at  Contreras  ;  Majors  Canby,  Hill  and 
Smith,  Captains  Burton  and  Kane,  and  the  other  officers  stationed 
in  Monterey,  accompanying  him.  In  one  group  might  be  seen 
Capt.  Sutter's  soldierly  moustache  and  clear  blue  eye ;  in  another, 
the  erect  figure  and  quiet,  dignified  bearing  of  Gen.  Vallejo.  Don 
l*ablo  de  la  Guerra,  with  his  handsome,  aristocratic  features,  was 
the  floor  manager,  and  gallantly  discharged  his  office.  Conspicuouj 
among  the  native  members  were  Don  Miguel  de  Pedrorena  and 
Jacinto  Rodriguez,  both  polished  gentlemen  and  deservedly  popu- 
lar. Dominguez,  the  Indian  member,  took  no  part  in  the  dance, 
but  evidently  enjoyed  the  scene  as  much  as  any  one  present.  The 
most  interesting  figure  to  me  was  that  of  Padre  Ramirez,  who,  in 
his  clerical  cassock,  looked  on  until  a  late  hour.  If  the  strongest 
advocate  of  priestly  gravity  and  decorum  had  been  present,  he 
could  not  have  found  in  his  heart  to  grudge  the  good  old  padre  the 
pleasure  that  beamed  upon  his  honest  countenance. 

The  band  consisted  of  two  violins  and  two  guitars,  whose  music 
made  up  in  spirit  what  it  lacked  in  skill.  They  played,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  but  three  pieces  alternately,  for  waltz,  contra-dance 
and  quadrille.  The  latter  dance  was  evidently  an  unfamiliar  one, 
for  once  or  twice  the  music  ceased  in  the  middle  of  a  figure.  Each 
tune  ended  with  a  funny  little  squeak,  something  like  the  whistle 
of  the  octave  flute  in  Robert  le  Viable.  The  players,  however, 
worked  incessantly,  and  deserved  good  wages  for  their  performance. 
Tho  etiquette  of  the  dance  was  marked  by  that  grave,  statel) 
courtesy,  which  has  been  handed  down  from  the  old  Spanish  times 
The  gentlemen  invariably  gave  the  ladies  their  hands  to  lead  them 
to  their  places  on  the  floor  ;  m  the  pauses  of  the  dance  both  parties 
stood  motionless  side  by  side,  and  at  its  conclusion  the  lady  wai 
bravely  led  back  to  her  seat. 


im  ELDORADO. 

At  twelve  o'clock  supper  was  announced.  The  Couit-llootti 
in  the  lower  story  had  been  fitted  up  for  this  purpose,  and,  as  it 
was  not  large  enough  to  admit  all  the  guests,  the  ladies  were  firsl 
conducted  thither  and  waited  upon  by  a  select  committee.  The 
refreshments  consisted  of  turkey,  roast  pig,  beef,  tongue  and  pdth 
with  wines  and  liquors  of  various  sorts,  and  coffee.  A  large  supply 
had  been  provided,  but  after  everybody  was  served,  there  was  not 
much  remaining.  The  ladies  began  to  leave  about  two  o'clock, 
but  when  I  came  away,  an  hour  later,  the  dance  was  still  going  on 
with  spirit. 

The  members  met  this  morning  at  the  usual  hour,  to  perform 
the  last  duty  that  remained  to  them — that  of  signing  the  Consti- 
tution. They  were  all  in  the  happiest  humor,  and  the  morning 
was  so  bright  and  balmy  that  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  call  an 
organization.  Mr.  Semple  was  sick,  and  Mr.  Steuart,  of  San 
Francisco,  therefore  called  the  meeting  to  order  by  moving  Capt 
Sutter's  appointment  in  his  place.  The  Chair  was  taken  by  the 
old  pioneer,  and  the  members  took  their  seats  around  the  sides  of 
the  hall,  which  still  retained  the  pine-trees  and  banners,  left  from 
last  night's  decorations.  The  windows  and  doors  were  open,  and 
a  delightful  breeze  came  in  from  the  Bay,  whose  blue  waters 
sparkled  in  the  distance.  The  view  from  the  balcony  in  front  was 
bright  and  inspiring.  The  town  below — the  shipping  in  the  har- 
bor— the  pine-covered  hUls  behind — were  mellowed  by  the  blue 
October  haze,  but  there  was  no  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  I  could 
plainly  see,  on  the  northern  horizon,  the  mountains  of  Santa  Crui 
and  the  Sierra  de  Gavilan. 

After  the  minutes  had  been  read,  the  Committee  appointed  to 
draw  up  an  Address  to  the  People  of  California  was  called  upon 
to  report,  and  Mr.  Steuart,  Chairir.an,  read  the  Address.     Its  tone 


SIGKING    THE    CONSTITUTION.  163 

and  sentiment  met  with  universal  approval,  and  it  was  adopted 
without  a  dissenting  voice.  A  resolution  was  then  offered  to  pay 
Lie  at.  Hamilton,  who  is  now  engaged  in  engrossing  the  Constitn 
non  upon  parchment,  the  sum  of  $500  for  his  labor.  This  mag- 
nificent pri'je,  probably  the  highest  ever  paid  for  a  similar  service 
M  on  a  par  with  all  things  else  in  California.  As  this  was  then 
last  session,  the  members  were  not  disposed  to  find  fault  with  it, 
especially  when  it  was  stated  by  one  of  them  that  Lieut.  Hamilton 
had  written  day  and  night  to  have  it  ready,  and  was  still  working 
npon  it,  though  with  a  lame  and  swollen  hand.  The  sheet  for  the 
signers'  names  was  ready,  and  the  Convention  decided  to  adjourn 
for  half  an  hour  and  then  meet  for  the  purpose  of  signing. 

I  amused  myself  during  the  interval  by  walking  about  the  town. 
Everybody  knew  that  the  Convention  was  about  closing,  and  it  was 
generally  understood  that  Capt.  Burton  had  loaded  the  guns  at  the 
fort^  and  would  fire  a  salute  of  thirty-one  guns  at  the  proper  mo- 
ment. The  citizens,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  members,  were  in 
an  excited  mood.  Monterey  never  before  looked  so  bright,  so 
happy,  so  full  of  pleasant  expectation. 

About  one  o'clock  the  Convention  met  again  ;  few  of  the  mem- 
bers, indeed,  had  left  the  hall.  Mr.  Semple,  although  in  feeble 
health,  called  them  to  order,  and,  after  having  voted  Gen.  Riley  a 
salary  of  $10,000,  and  Mr.  Halleck,  Secretary  of  State,  $6,000  a 
year,  from  the  commencement  of  their  respective  oflSces,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  aflSx  their  names  to  the  completed  Constitution.  At 
this  moment  a  signal  was  given  ;  the  American  colors  ran  up  the 
Bag-staff  in  front  of  the  Government  buildings,  and  streamed  onl 
Ml  the  air  A  second  afterward  the  first  gun  boomed  from  the 
fort,  and  its  stirring  echoes  came  back  from  one  hill  after  anothei 
till  they  were  lost  in  the  distance 


t64  KLDORADU. 

All  ♦be  native  enthusiasm  of  Capt  Sutter's  Swiss  blood  waa 
aroused ;  he  was  the  old  soldier  again.  He  sprang  from  his  seat^ 
and,  waving  his  hand  around  his  head,  as  if  swinging  a  sword,  ex- 
claimed :  "  G-entlemen,  this  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  Itmakea 
ne  glad  to  hear  those  cannon  :  they  remind  me  of  the  time  when 
I  was  a  soldier.  Yes,  I  am  glad  to  hear  them — this  is  a  great 
day  for  California  !"  Then,  recollecting  himself,  he  sat  down,  the 
tears  streaming  from  his  eyes.  The  members  with  one  accord, 
gave  three  tumultuous  cheers,  which  were  heard  from  one  end  of 
the  town  to  the  other.  As  the  signing  went  on,  gun  followed  gun 
from  the  fort,  the  echoes  reverberating  grandly  around  the  bay, 
till  finally,  as  the  loud  ring  of  the  thirty-first  was  heard,  there  waa 
a  shout :  "  That's  for  California !"  and  every  one  joined  in  giving 
three  times  three  for  the  new  star  added  to  our  Confederation. 

There  was  one  handsome  act  I  must  not  omit  to  mention.  The 
Captaia  of  the  English  bark  Volimteer,  of  Sidney,  Australia,  ly- 
ing in  the  harbor,  sent  on  shore  in  the  morning  for  an  American 
flag.  When  the  first  gun  was  heard,  a  line  of  colors  ran  flutter- 
ing up  to  the  spars,  the  stars  and  stripes  flying  triumphantly  from 
the  main-top.  The  compliment  was  the  more  marked,  as  some 
of  the  American  vessels  neglected  to  give  any  token  of  recogni- 
tion to  the  event  of  the  day. 

The  Constitution  having  been  signed  and  the  Convention  di» 
solved,  the  members  proceeded  in  a  body  to  the  house  of  Gen. 
RUey.  The  visit  was  evidently  unexpected  by  the  old  veteran. 
When  he  made  his  appearance  Captain  Sutter  stepped  forward 
And  having  shaken  him  by  the  hand,  drew  himself  into  an  erect 
attitude,  raised  one  hand  to  his  breast  as  if  he  were  making  a  re- 
port to  his  commanding  officer  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  addreflsed 
him  as  follows: 


GEN     RILET    AND    THE    MEMBERS.  I  fin 

Gen  ERA  I,  :  I  have  been  appointed  by  the  Delegate,?,  elected 
t*y  the  people  of  California  to  form  a  Constitution,  to  addroft 
you  in  their  names  and  in  behalf  of  the  whole  people  of  Cali- 
fornia, and  express  the  thanks  of  the  Convention  for  the  aid  and 
codperation  they  have  received  from  you  in  the  discharge  of  the 
1  espensible  duty  of  creating  a  State  G-overnment.  And,  sir,  the 
Convention,  as  you  will  perceive  from  the  official  records,  duly  ap- 
preciates the  great  and  important  services  you  have  rendered  to 
our  common  country,  and  especially  to  the  people  of  California, 
and  entertains  the  confident  belief  that  you  will  receive  from  the 
whole  of  the  people  of  the  United  States,  when  you  retire  from 
your  official  duties  here,  that  verdict  so  grateful  to  the  heart  of 
the  patriot :  '  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant.' " 

Gen.  Riley  was  visibly  affected  by  this  mark  of  respect,  no  less 
appropriate  than  well  deserved  on  his  part.  The  tears  in  his 
eyes  and  the  plain,  blunt  sincerity  of  his  voice  and  manner,  went 
to  the  heart  of  every  one  present.  "  Gentlemen :"  he  said,  "  I 
never  made  a  speech  in  my  life.  I  am  a  soldier — ^but  I  c&n  fed; 
and  I  do  feel  deeply  the  honor  you  have  this  day  conferred  upon 
me.  Gentlemen,  this  is  a  prouder  day  to  me  than  that  on  which 
my  soldiers  cheered  me  on  the  field  of  Contreras.  I  thank  you 
all  from  my  heart.  I  am  satisfied  now  that  the  people  have  done 
right  in  selecting  Delegates  to  frame  a  Constitution.  They  have 
chosen  a  body  of  men  upon  whom  our  country  may  look  with 
pride :  you  have  framed  a  Constitution  worthy  of  California. 
And  T  have  no  fear  for  California  while  her  people  choose  theij 
Representatives  so  wisely.  Gentlemen,  I  congratulate  you  upon 
the  successful  conclusion  of  your  arduous  labors  ;  and  I  wish  you 
ill  happiness  and  prosperity." 

The  General  was  here  interrupted  with  three  hearty  cheen 


Id6  ELDORADO. 

vrhich  the  members  gave  him,  as  Governor  of  California,  followeo 
by  three  more,  "  as  a  gallant  soldier,  and  worthy  of  his  country's 
glory."  He  then  concluded  in  the  following  words :  "  I  Lave 
but  one  thing  to  add,  gentlemen,  and  that  is,  that  my  success  in 
the  affairs  of  California  is  mainly  owing  to  the  efficient  aid  ren- 
dered me  by  Capt.  Halleck,  the  Secretary  of  State.  He  has  stood 
by  me  in  all  emergencies.  To  him  I  have  always  appealed  when 
at  a  loss  myself;  and  he  has  never  failed  me." 

This  recognition  of  Capt.  Halleck's  talents  and  the  signal  ser- 
vice he  has  rendered  to  our  authorities  here,  since  the  conquest, 
was  peculiarly  just  and  appropriate.  It  was  so  felt  by  the  mem- 
bers, and  they  responded  with  equal  warmth  of  feeling  by  giving 
three  enthusiastic  cheers  for  the  Secretary  of  State.  They  then 
took  their  leave,  many  of  them  being  anxious  to  start  this  after- 
noon for  their  various  places  of  residence.  All  were  in  a  happy 
and  satisfied  mood,  and  none  less  so  than  the  native  members 
Pedrorena  declared  that  this  was  the  most  fortunate  day  in  the 
history  of  California.  Even  Carillo,  in  the  beginning  one  of  our 
most  zealous  opponents,  displayed  a  genuine  zeal  for  the  Constitu- 
tion, which  he  helped  to  frame  under  the  laws  of  our  Republic. 

Thus  closes  the  Convention  ;  and  I  cannot  help  saying,  with 
Capt.  Sutter,  that  the  day  which  sees  laid  the  broad  and  libera' 
foundation  of  a  free  and  independent  State  on  the  shores  of  the 
Pacific,  is  a  great  day  for  California.  As  an  American,  I  feel 
proud  and  happy — proud,  that  the  Empire  of  the  West,  the  com- 
merce of  the  great  Pacific,  the  new  highway  to  the  Indies,  forra- 
hig  the  last  link  in  that  belt  of  civilized  enterprise  which  now 
clasps  the  world,  has  btcn  established  under  my  country's  flag ; 
*nd  happy,  that  in  all  the  extent  of  California,  from  the  glittering 
snows  of  the  Shaste  to  the  burning  deserts  of  the  Colorado,  nc 


MORAL    OF    THE    CONVENTION  167 

slave  shall  ever  lift  bis  arm  to  make  the  freedom  vf  that  flag  a 
mockery. 

The  members  of  the  Convention  may  have  made  some  blm^ 
ders  in  the  course  of  their  deliberations ;  there  may  be  some  ob- 
ecticmable  clauses  in  the  Constitution  they  have  framed.  But 
where  was  there  ever  a  body  convened,  under  such  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances .'' — ^where  was  ever  such  harmony  evolved  out  of  so 
wonderful,  so  dangerous,  so  magnificent  a  chaos  .-  The  elemente 
of  which  the  Convention  was  composed  were  no  less  various,  and 
in  some  respects  antagonistic,  than  those  combined  in  the  mining 
population.  The  questions  they  had  to  settle  were  often  perplex- 
ing, from  the  remarkable  position  of  the  country  and  the  absence 
of  all  precedent.  Besides,  many  of  them  were  men  unused  to 
legislation.  Some  had  for  years  past  known  no  other  life  than 
that  of  the  camp ;  others  had  nearly  forgotten  all  law  in  the  wild 
life  of  the  mountains  ;  others  again  were  familiar  only  with  that 
practiced  under  the  rule  of  a  difi"erent  race.  Yet  the  courtesies 
of  debate  have  never  been  wantonly  violated,  and  the  result  oi 
every  conflict  of  opinion  has  been  a  quiet  acquiescence  on  the  part 
of  the  minority.  Now,  at  the  conclusion,  the  only  feeling  is  that 
of  general  joy  and  congratulation. 

Thus,  we  have  another  splendid  example  of  the  ease  and  se- 
eurity  with  which  people  can  be  educated  to  govern  themselves 
From  that  chaos  whence,  tmder  the  rule  of  a  despotism  like  the 
A.U8trian  would  spring  the  most  frightful  excesses  of  anarchy 
%D.d.  crime,  a  population  of  freemen  peacefully  and  quietly  do- 
velopA  the  highest  form  of  civil  order — the  broadest  extent  of 
liberty  and  security.  Governments,  bad  and  corrupt  as  many  of 
them  are,  and  imperfect  as  they  all  must  necessarily  be,  never 
iheless  at  times  exhibit  scenes  of  true  moral  sublimity.     What  J 


168  ELDORADO 

have  to-day  witnessed  has  so  impressed  me  ;  and  were  I  a  be- 
liever in  omens,  1  would  augur  from  the  tranquil  beauty  of  thia 
evening — from  the  clear  sky  and  the  lovely  sunset  hues  on  the 
waters  of  the  bay — more  than  all,  from  the  joyous  expression  oi 
I  very  face  I  see-  -a  glorious  and  prosperous  career  fcr  the  State 
^p  California! 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


SHORE     AND     FOREST. 


No  one  can  be  in  Monterey  a  single  night,  without  being  startled 
and  awed  by  the  deep,  solemn  crashes  of  the  surf  as  it  breaks 
along  the  shore.  There  is  no  continuous  roar  of  the  plunging 
waves,  as  we  hear  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard ;  the  slow,  regular 
swells — quiet  pulsations  of  the  great  Pacific's  heart — roll  inward 
in  unbroken  lines  and  fall  with  single  grand  crashes,  with  inter- 
vals of  dead  silence  between.  They  may  be  heard  through  the 
day,  if  one  listens,  like  a  solemn  undertone  to  all  the  shallow 
noises  of  the  town,  but  at  midnight,  when  all  else  is  still,  those 
successive  shocks  fall  upon  the  ear  with  a  sensation  ot  inexpres- 
sible solemnity.  All  the  air,  from  the  pine  forests  to  the  sea,  is 
filled  with  a  light  tremor  and  the  intermitting  beats  of  sound  are 
strong  enough  to  jar  a  delicate  ear.  Their  constant  repetition  at 
last  produces  a  feeling  something  like  terror.  A  spirit  worn  and 
weakened  by  some  scathing  sorrow  could  scarcely  bear  the  re- 
verberation. 

When  there  has  been  a  gale  outside,  and  a  morning  of  dazzling 
clearness  succeeds  a  night  of  fog  and  cold  wind,  the  swells  are 
iuudest  and  most  magnificent.  Then  their  lines  of  foam  are  flung 
apward  like  a  snowy  fringe  along  the  dark-blue  hem  of  the  sea 

VOL.  I.  8 


l70  ELDORADO. 

and  a  ligtt,  glittering  mist  constantly  rises  from  the  hollow  curVd 
of  the  shore.  One  quiet  Sunday  afternoon,  when  the  uproar  waa 
Buch  as  to  be  almost  felt  in  the  solid  earth,  I  walked  out  along  the 
Band  till  I  had  passed  the  anchorage  and  could  look  on  the  open 
Pacific.  The  surface  of  the  bay  was  comparatively  calm  ;  but 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  shore  it  upheaved  with  a  slow 
majestic  movement,  forming  a  single  line  more  than  a  mile  it 
length,  which,  as  it  advanced,  presented  a  perpendicular  front  of 
clear  green  water,  twelve  feet  in  height.  There  was  a  gradual 
curving-in  of  this  emerald  wall — a  moment's  waver — ^and  the  whole 
mass  fell  forward  with  a  thundering  crash,  hurling  the  shattered 
spray  thirty  feet  into  the  air.  A  second  rebound  followed  ;  and 
the  boiling,  seething  waters  raced  far  up  the  sand  with  a  sharp, 
trampling,  metallic  sound,  like  the  jangling  of  a  thousand  bars  of 
iron.  I  sat  down  on  a  pine  log,  above  the  highest  wave-mark,  and 
watched  this  sublime  phenomenon  for  a  long  time.  The  sand-hills 
behind  me  confined  and  redoubled  the  sound,  prolonging  it  from 
crash  to  crash,  go  that  the  ear  was  constantly  filled  with  it.  Once, 
a  tremendous  swell  came  in  close  on  the  heels  of  one  that  had  jtisl 
broken,  and  the  two  uniting,  made  one  wave,  which  shot  far  be- 
yond the  water-line  and  buried  me  above  the  knee.  As  far  as  I 
could  see,  the  shore  was  white  with  the  subsiding  deluge.  It  was 
a  fine  illustration  of  the  magnificent  language  of  Scripture  :  "  He 
maketh  the  deep  to  boil  like  a  pot ;  he  maketh  the  sea  like  a  pot 
.)f  ointment ;  one  would  think  the  deep  to  be  hoary." 

The  pine  forest  behind  the  town  encloses  in  its  depths  many 
spots  of  remarkable  loneliness  and  beauty.  The  forest  itself  had 
H  peculiar  charm  for  me,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  my 
exploring  some  part  of  its  solemn  region.  The  old,  rugged  trees, 
blackened  with  many  fires,  aro  thickly  bearded  with  long  gny 


THE    FOREST SWIMMING    A    RATINE.  171 

moss,  which  gives  out  a  hoarse,  dull  sound  as  the  sea-wind  sweeps 
through  them.  The  promontory  of  Monterey  is  entirely  covered 
with  them,  excepting  only  the  little  glens,  or  cafladas,  which  wind 
their  way  between  the  interlocking  bases  of  the  hills.  Here,  the 
gi-ass  is  thick  and  luxuriant  through  the  whole  year  ;  the  pine? 
shut  out  all  sight  but  the  mild,  stainless  heaven  above  their  tops ; 
the  air  is  fragrant  with  the  bay  and  laurel,  and  the  light  tread  oi 
a  deer  or  whirr  of  a  partridge,  at  intervals,  alone  breaks  the  deli- 
cious solitude.  The  far  roar  of  the  sm-f,  stealing  up  through  the 
avenues  of  the  forest,  is  softened  to  a  murmur  by  the  time  it 
reaches  these  secluded  places.  No  more  lovely  hermitages  for 
thought  or  the  pluming  of  callow  fancies,  can  be  found  among  the 
pine-bowers  of  the  ViUa  Borghese. 

After  climbing  all  of  the  lesser  heights,  and  barking  my  hand  on 
the  rough  bark  of  a  branchless  pine,  in  the  endeavor  to  climb  i1 
for  a  look-out,  I  started  one  afternoon  on  an  expedition  to  the  top 
of  a  bald  summit  among  the  hills  to  the  southward.  It  was  appa- 
rently near  at  hand  and  easy  of  access,  but  after  I  had  walked 
several  miles,  1  isaw,  from  the  top  of  a  ridge,  that  a  deep  valley — 
a  chasm,  almost^ — was  to  be  passed  before  I  could  reach  even  its 
foot.  The  sido  seemed  almost  precipitous  and  the  loose  stones 
felid  imder  my  feet ;  but  by  hanging  to  the  low  limbs  of  trees,  I 
ncceeded  in  getting  to  the  bottom.  The  bed  of  the  valley,  not 
uore  than  a  hundred  yards  in  breadth,  was  one  matted  mass  of 
wild  vines,  briars  and  thorny  shrubs.  I  trusted  to  the  strength  Ok 
my  corduroys  for  defence  against  them,  and  to  a  good  horse-pisto. 
shoald  I  stumble  on  some  wild  beast's  lair — and  plunged  in.  At 
the  first  step  I  sank  above  my  head,  without  touching  the  bottom. 
The  briars  were  woven  so  closely  that  it  was  impossible  to  prea 
through  or  creep  under  thorn  ;  I  could  only  flounder  along,  draw- 


172  ELDOSADO. 

ing  myself  up  by  the  greatest  exertions,  to  sink  into  another  gulf 
a  few  inches  in  advance.  My  hands  and  clothes  were  torn,  mj 
mouth  filled  with  dry  and  bitter  pollen  from  the  withered  vinoa 
that  brushed  my  face,  and  it  was  only  after  an  hour's  labor  that  1 
reached  the  other  side,  completely  exhausted. 

I  climbed  the  opposite  hill,  thinking  my  object  nearly  attained 
when  lo  !  another,  a  deeper  and  rougher  chasm  still  intervened. 
The  sun  was  already  down  and  I  gave  up  the  journey.  Prom  the 
end  of  the  ridge  I  had  attained,  I  overlooked  all  the  circumferenca 
of  the  bay.  Behind  the  white  glimmer  of  the  town  the  forest  rose 
with  a  gradual  sweep,  while  before  me  lay  a  wide  extent  of  undu- 
lating hills,  rolling  off  to  the  Salinas  Plains,  which  appeared  be- 
yond— 

"  Dim  tracts  and  vast,  robed  in  the  lustrous  gloom 
Of  leaden-colored  even,  and  fiery  hills 
Mingling  their  flames  with  twilight,  on  the  verge 
Of  the  remote  horizon." 

Taking  another  road,  I  wandered  home  in  the  dusk,  not  witl  ynt 
some  chance  of  losing  myself  among  the  frequent  hollows  and 
patches  of  chapparal.  I  lay  in  wait  half  an  hour  for  two  deer,  a 
glimpse  of  whom  I  had  caught  in  the  woods,  but  as  I  had  not  the 
keen  sight  of  a  Kentucky  hunter,  I  ^Tas  obliged  to  go  home  with- 
out them. 

The  opposite  shore  of  the  promontory  contains  many  striking 
and  picturesque  points,  to  which  the  Montereyans  often  resort  on 
parties  of  pleasure.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  these  is  Pumta 
fie  lot  CipreseSy  or  Cypress  Point,  which  I  visited  several  times 
One  of  my  most  memorable  days,  while  at  Monterey,  was  spent 
there  in  cojipany  with  my  friend,  Kosa  Browne.  We  started 
early  in  th»  morning,  carrying  with  us  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  piece 


DINNER    BT    THE    SEA-SIDK.  173 

of  raw  beef,  as  materials  for  <linn(  r.  After  threading  the  maxet 
of  the  forest  for  several  miles,  we  came  upon  the  bleak  sand-hills 
piled  like  snow-drifts  between  the  forest  and  the  beach.  The  bare 
tongue  of  land  which  jutted  out  beyond  them  was  covered  with  a 
carpet  of  maritime  plants,  among  which  I  noticed  one  with  a  beau- 
tiful star-like  flower  :  another,  with  succulent,  wax-like  leaveS; 
bears  a  fruit  which  is  greatly  relished  by  the  Califomians. 

The  extremity  of  the  Point  is  a  mass  of  gray  rock,  worn  by  the 
Burf  into  fantastic  walls  and  turrets.  The  heavy  swells  of  the 
open  sea,  striking  their  bases  with  tremendous  force,  fill  their 
crevices  with  foaming  spray,  which  pours  off  in  a  hundred  cata- 
racts as  the  wave  draws  back  for  another  shock.  In  the  narrow 
channels  between  the  rocks,  the  pent  waters  rcU  inland  with  great 
force,  flooding  point  after  point  and  flinging  high  into  the  air  the 
purple  flags  and  streamers  of  sea-weed,  till  they  reach  the  glassy, 
sheltered  pools,  that  are  quietly  filled  and  emptied  with  every 
pulsation  of  the  great  sea  without.  A  cold  mist  hung  over  the 
sea,  which  heightened  the  wildness  and  bleakness  of  the  scene  and 
made  it  inspiring.  Flocks  of  sea-gulls  uttered  their  shrill,  piping 
cry  as  they  flew  over  us,  and  a  seal  now  and  then  thrust  up  his 
inquisitive  head,  outside  of  the  surf. 

We  collected  the  drift-wood  which  lay  scattered  along  the 
shore,  and  made  a  roaring  fire  on  the  rocks.  After  having  sliceti 
And  spitted  our  meat  and  set  our  bread  to  toast,  we  crept  into  the 
crevices  that  opened  to  the  sea,  and  at  the  momentary  risk  of 
being  drenched,  tore  off  the  muscles  adhering  to  them.  When  well 
roasted,  their  flesh  is  tender  and  nearly  as  palatable  as  that 
of  an  oyster  ;  it  is  of  a  brigat  orange  color,  with  a  little  black 
beard  at  one  end,  which  is  intensely  bitter  and  must  be  rejected 
We  reasoned  oiu*  meat  by  dipping  it  into  the  sea,  and  when  our 


174  ELDORADO. 

meal  was  ready,  ato  it  from  the  pearly  shells  of  the  avelone^  whicl 
strewed  the  sand.  It  was  a  rare  dinner,  that,  with  its  grand  ac- 
companiment of  surf-mnsic  and  the  clanging  sea-gulls  as  oui 
attendants.  On  onr  way  home  we  came  suddenly  on  a  pack  of 
»even  black  wolves,  who  had  been  feeding  on  the  body  of  a  larga 
stranded  fish.  They  gave  a  howl  of  surprise  and  started  off  at 
full  speed,  through  the  bushes,  where  I  attempted  to  follow  them, 
but  my  legs  were  no  match  for  their  fleetness. 

I  rode  to  Point  Pinos  one  afternoon,  in  company  with  Major 
Hill.  Our  way  was  through  the  Pine  Forest ;  we  followed  no 
regular  path,  but  pushed  our  horses  through  chapparal,  leaped 
them  over  trees  that  had  been  uprooted  in  the  last  winter's 
storms,  and  spurred  them  at  a  gallop  through  the  cleared  inter 
vals.  A  narrow  ridge  of  sand  intervenes  between  the  pines  and 
the  sea.  Beyond  it,  the  Point — a  rugged  mass  of  gray  sandstone 
rock,  washed  into  fantastic  shapes,  juts  out  into  the  Pacific.  The 
tide  was  at  its  ebb,  but  a  strong  wind  was  blowing,  and  the  shock 
and  foam  of  the  swells  was  magnificent.  We  scrambled  from 
ledge  to  ledge  till  we  gained  the  extremity  of  the  Point,  and  there, 
behind  the  last  rock  that  fronts  the  open  sea,  found  a  little  shel- 
tered cove,  whose  sides  and  bottom  were  covered  with  star-fish, 
avelones,  muscles,  and  polypi  of  brilliant  colors.  There  were 
prickly  balls  of  purple,  rayed  fish  of  orange  and  scarlet,  broad 
flower-like  animals  of  green  and  umber  hue,  and  myriads  of  little 
crabs  and  snails,  all  shining  through  the  clear  green  water.  The 
avelone,  which  is  a  univalve,  found  clinging  to  the  sides  of  rocks, 
fiirnishes  the  finest  mother-of-pearl.  We  had  come  provided  with 
ft  small  iron  bar,  which  was  more  than  a  match  for  their  suction 
power,  and  in  a  short  space  of  time  secured  a  number  of  theii 
beautiful  shells.     Among  the  sand-hills  and  even  in  some  part 


OPOLOOY    AND    INDIAN    TRADITION  175 

yf  the  forest,  the  earth  is  strewed  with  them.  The  natives  were 
formerly  in  the  habit  of  gathering  them  into  large  heaps  and  mak- 
ing lime  therefrom. 

The  existence  of  these  shells  in  the  soil  is  but  one  of  the  facts 
which  tend  to  prove  the  recent  geological  formation  of  this  paii 
of  the  coast.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  a  great  part 
of  the  promontory  on  which  Monterey  is  bmlt,  was  at  no  very  re- 
mote period  of  time  covered  by  the  sea.  A  sluggish  salt  lagoon. 
east  of  the  Catholic  Church,  was  not  more  than  twenty  years  ago 
a  part  of  the  bay,  fiom  which  it  is  now  separated  by  a  sandy  mea- 
dow, quarter  of  a  mUe  in  breadth.  According  to  an  Indian  tra- 
dition, of  comparatively  modern  origin,  the  waters  of  San  Francisco 
Bay  once  communicated  with  the  bay  of  Monterey  by  the  valley 
of  San  Jose  and  the  Rio  del  Pajaro.  I  should  think  a  level  of 
fifty  feet,  or  perhaps  less — above  the  present  one,  would  suffice 
to  have  effected  this.  The  other  Indian  tradition,  that  the  outlet 
of  the  Golden  Gate  was  occasioned  by  violent  disruption  of  the 
hills,  through  the  means  of  an  earthquake,  is  not  based  on 
natural  evidence.  The  sloughs  and  marshes  in  the  valley  of  San 
Joaquin,  and  around  the  Tulare  Lakes,  present  every  appearance 
of  having  been  left  by  the  drainage  of  a  subsiding  ocean.  A 
thorough  geological  exploration  of  California  would  imdoubtedly 
bring  to  light  many  strange  and  interesting  facts  connected  with 
her  physical  formation. 

On  our  way  home,  we  discovered  a   sea-ott«r,  basking  on  a 
iaclated  rock.     Major  Hill  crept  stealthily  to  within  about  fifi 
yards  of  him,  took  good  aim  and  fired.    He  gave  a  convulsive  leap 
and  tumbled  into  the  sea,  evidently  badly  wounded,  if  not  killed 
His  boady  floated  out  on  the  waves,  and  a  flock  of  sea-mews,  at- 
tracted  by  the   blood,  flew  round   him,  uttering  their  piping  cry 


(76  ELDORADO. 

Rnd  darting  down  to  the  water.     The  otter  is  rare  on  thb  part  of 
the  coast,  and  ths  skin  of  one  is  valued  at  $40. 

T  shall  notice  but  on  a  other  ramble  about  the  forests  and  shoies 
of  Blonterey.  This  was  a  visit  to  the  ex-Mission  of  Carmel  and 
Point  Lobos,  which  I  made  in  company  with  Mr.  Lyon,  one  of  the 
Secretaries  of  the  Convention.  A  well-traveled  road,  leading  ovei 
the  hills,  conducted  us  to  the  Mission,  which  is  situated  ou  the 
Pacific  side  of  the  promontory,  at  the  head  of  a  shallow  bay  Thp 
beautiful  but  deserted  valley  in  which  it  stands  is  threaded  by  the 
Rio  de  Carmel,  whose  waters  once  gave  unfailing  fertility  to  its  now 
neglected  gardens.  The  Mission  building  is  in  the  form  of  a  hollow 
Square,  with  a  spacious  court-yard,  overlooked  by  a  heavy  belfry 
and  chapel-dome  of  sun-diied  bricks.  The  out-buildings  of  thr 
Indian  retainers  and  the  corrals  of  earth  that  once  herded  thou 
sands  of  cattle  are  broken  down  and  tenantless.  We  climbed  into 
the  tower  and  struck  the  fine  old  Spanish  bells,  but  the  sound 
called  no  faces  into  the  blank  windows. 

We  bribed  a  red-headed  boy,  who  was  playing  with  two  or  three 
younger  children  in  the  court-yard,  to  bring  us  the  keys  of  the 
church.  His  father — ^an  American  who  had  been  many  years  in 
the  country  and  taken  unto  himself  a  native  wife — followed,  and 
opened  for  us  the  weather-beaten  doors.  The  interior  of  the 
Church  was  lofty,  the  ceiling  a  rude  attempt  at  a  Gothic  arch, 
and  the  shrine  a  huge,  faded  mass  of  gilding  and  paint,  with  some 
monkish  portraits  of  saints.  A  sort  of  side-chapel  near  the  en- 
trance was  painted  with  Latin  mottos  and  arabesque  scrolls  which 
exhibited  a  genuine  though  uncultivated  taste  for  adornment. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  portraits  of  saints,  some  black  and  some 
white,  some  holding  croziers,  some  playing  violins  and  some  bap- 
tizing Indians      Near  the  altar  is  the  tomb  of  Padre  Juniperc 


THK    8EA-LI0N8   ON    POINT    L0B08.  IT? 

Bena,    be  founder  of  Monterej  and  the  zealotis  pioneer  in  tlu 
settlement  and  civilization  of  California. 

We  reached  Point  Lobos,  which  is  three  miles  beyond  the  Mis- 
sion, by  a  ride  along  the  beach.  It  is  a  narrow,  blnff  headland, 
orergrown  with  pines  nearly  to  its  extremity.  The  path  brought 
us  to  the  brink  of  a  stony  declivity,  shelving  down  to  the  sea 
Off  the  Point,  and  at  the  distance  of  not  more  than  two  hundred 
yards,  is  a  cluster  of  low  rocks,  some  of  which  are  covered  with  a 
deposit  of  guano.  As  we  reined  up  on  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  a 
most  extraordinary  sound  met  our  ears — a  mingled  bellowing, 
groaning  and  snorting,  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  heard.  The 
rocks  seemed  to  be  in  motion  at  the  first  glance,  and  one  might 
readily  have  imaged  that  the  sound  proceeded  from  their  uneasy 
heaving  on  the  waves.  But,  on  looking  more  closely,  I  saw  that 
their  visible  surface  was  entirely  covered  with  the  huge  bodies  of 
the  seals  and  sea-lions  who  had  congregated  there — ^great,  un- 
wieldy, wallowing  creatures,  from  eight  to  fifteen  feet  in  length, 
rolling  to  and  fro  among  each  other  and  uttering  their  peculiar 
bellowing  cry.  Occasionally,  a  group  of  them  would  slip  off  into 
the  water,  and  attracted  by  their  curiosity,  approach  the  shore. 
The  sea-lions,  with  their  broad  heads,  rough  manes  and  square 
fronts,  showed  some  resemblance  to  the  royal  beast,  when  viewed 
in  front.  They  are  frequently  captured  and  killed  by  whalers  for 
ths  sake  of  their  blubber,  which  yields  a  considerable  quantity  of 

•a. 

I  attended  the  Catholic  Church  in  Monterey  one  Sxmday,  to 
hear  good  old  Padre  Eamirez.  The  church  is  small  and  with 
scanty  decorations ;  the  nave  and  gallery  were  both  crowded  by 
the  Californian  families  and  Indians.  Near  the  door  hung  oppo- 
rite  pictures  of  Heaven  and  Hell — the  former  a  sort  of  pyramid 


178  ^  ELDORADO. 

inhabited  by  straight  white  figures,  with  an  aspect  of  solemn  di» 
trees ;  the  latter  enclosed  in  the  expanded  jaws  of  a  dragon, 
swarming  with  devils  who  tormented  their  victims  with  spears  and 
pitchforks.  The  church  music  was  furnished  by  a  diminutive 
parlor-organ,  and  consisted  of  a  choice  list  of  polkas,  waltzes  and 
fcndango  airs.  Padre  Ramirez  preached  a  very  excellent  sermon 
recommending  his  Catholic  flock  to  follow  the  example  of  the 
Protestants,  who,  he  said,  were  more  truly  pious  than  they,  and 
did  much  more  for  the  welfare  of  their  church.  I  noticed  that 
during  the  sermon,  several  of  the  Californians  disappeared  through 
a  small  door  at  the  end  of  the  gallery.  Following  them,  out  of 
curiosity,  I  found  them  all  seated  in  the  belfry  and  along  the  oo 
ping  of  the  front,  composedly  smoking  their  cigars. 

There  was  a  little  gold  excitement  in  Monterey  during  my 
visit,  on  account  of  the  report  that  a  washing  of  considerable  rich- 
ness had  been  discovered  near  the  Mission  of  San  Antonio,  among 
the  Coast  Mountains,  sixty  miles  to  the  southward.  According 
to  the  accounts  which  reached  us,  a  number  of  people  had  com- 
menced working  there,  with  fair  success,  and  traders  were  begin- 
ning to  send  their  teams  in  that  direction.  Grold  was  also  said  to 
exist  in  small  quantities  near  the  Mission  of  Carmel,  where,  in- 
deed, there  were  strong  geological  indications  of  it.  These  dis- 
coveries, however,  were  too  slight  to  affect  the  repose  of  the  town. 
«rhich  a  much  greater  excitement  c.uld  scarcely  have  shakeu 


CHAPTER  XYm. 

OLl   CALIFORNIA ITS  MISSIONS  AND  ITS  LANDS. 

Three  or  four  weeks  of  my  stay  in  Monterey  were  principally 
passed  in  the  office  of  the  Civil  G-overnment,  where  I  was  em- 
ployed in  examining  all  the  records  relating  to  land  titles  and 
Mission  property  in  California.  Notwithstanding  the  apparent 
dryness  of  the  subject,  I  found  the  documents  curious  and  inter- 
esting. The  smoky  papd  sellado  on  which  they  were  written — 
the  naive  and  irregular  orthography — the  rude  drawings  and  maps 
which  accompanied  them  and  the  singular  laws  and  customs  of 
which  they  gave  evidence,  had  a  real  charm  to  any  one  possessing 
the  slightest  relish  for  the  odor  of  antiquity.  Most  interesting  of 
aU  was  a  box  of  records,  brought  from  La  Paz,  Lower  California, 
where  many  similar  boxes,  equally  precious,  were  used  for  the 
wadding  of  Castro's  cannon.  Among  its  contents  were  letters  of 
instruction  from  the  Viceroy  Galvez,  original  letters  of  Padre 
Junipero  Serra  and  mandates  from  the  Bishops  of  Mexico  to  the 
Missionaries  in  Sonora  and  California  I  was  never  tired  of  hear 
ing  Capl.  Halleck,  the  Secretary  of  State,  whose  knowledge  of  the 
early  history  of  California  is  not  equalled  by  any  one  in  the  conn* 
try,  talk  of  those  marvellous  times  and  make  clear  the  misty 
tueining  of  the  rare  old  papers. 


180  ELDORADO. 

The  extensive  history  of  Yanegas,  an  abridgment  of  whi ^h  hai 
been  introduced  by  Mr.  Forbes  into  his  work  on  CaliforAia,  is  the 
most  complete  of  all  which  have  been  written.  It  is  mainly  con- 
fined, however,  to  the  settlement  of  the  Peninsula,  and  throws  no 
light  on  the  after  decay  and  ruin  of  the  Missions  of  Alta  Cali« 
(brnia.  These  establishments,  to  which  solely  are  owing  the  set- 
tlement and  civilization  of  the  country,  have  now  entirely  fallen 
from  their  former  supremacy,  and  are  of  no  further  importance  in 
a  civil  view.  Some  facts  concerning  the  manner  of  their  down- 
fidl,  which  I  learned  during  my  labors  among  the  archives,  may 
be  not  inappropriately  given  here.  Henceforth,  under  the 
ascendancy  of  American  institutions,  they  have  no  longer  an 
exitrtence :  shall  we  not,  therefore,  now  that  their  day  is  over, 
take  one  backward  glance  over  the  places  they  have  filled  and  the 
good  or  evil  they  have  accomplished  ? 

The  history  of  their  original  foundation  is  one  of  remarkable 
interest.  Through  the  perseverance  and  self-denying  labors  of  a 
few  Catholic  Priests  alone,  the  natives,  not  only  of  the  Peninsula 
and  the  Coast,  as  far  north  as  San  Francisco  Bay,  but  the  exten- 
fflve  provinces  of  Sonora  and  Sinaloa,  were  taught  the  arts  of 
civilized  life  and  subjected  to  the  dominion  of  Spain.  The  lives 
of  Padres  Kino,  Salvatierra  and  Ugarte  exhibit  instances  of  dan- 
ger, adventure  and  heroic  endurance  scarcely  inferior  to  those  of 
Cortez  and  Coronado.  The  great  work  they  accomplished  on  the 
Peninsula  and  in  the  Northern  Provinces  of  Mexico,  in  the  begin- 
mng  of  the  last  century,  was  followed  fifty  years  later  by  Padre 
Junipero  Serra,  who  in  1769  founded  the  Mission  of  San  Diego 
the  first  settlement  in  Alta  California.  In  the  succeeding  yeai 
he  landed  at  Monterey,  and  by  a  solemn  mass  which  was  per- 
formed under  an  oak-tree  still  standing  near  the  fort,  took  posses- 


RISE    OF    THE    MISSIONS.  Iftl 

sion  of  the  spot  After  laboring  for  thirteen  years  with  inde&ti* 
gable  zeal  and  a  itivity,  during  which  time  he  founded  nine  misBions, 
the  good  Padre  died  in  1784,  and  was  buried  in  the  grave-yard  of 
Carmel.  His  successors  continued  the  work,  ard  by  the  yeai 
1800  had  increased  the  number  of  Missions  to  sixteen.  Sine* 
that  time  only  three  more  have  been  added.  The  Missions  arc 
aamed  and  located  as  follows  :  San  Rafael  and  San  Francisco  So- 
lano, north  of  San  Francisco  Bay ;  Dolores,  near  San  Francisco , 
Santa  Clara  and  San  Jose,  near  Pueblo  San  Jose ;  San  Juan, 
Santa  Cruz  and  Carmel,  near  Monterey  ;  Soledad,  San  Antonio 
and  San  Miguel,  in  the  Valley  of  Salinas  River  ;  San  Luis  Obispo ; 
La  Purisima,  Santa  Ynez,  Santa  Barbara  and  San  Buenaventura, 
Qear  Santa  Barbara ;  San  Gabriel  and  San  Fernando,  near  Los 
Angeles;  and  San  Luis  Rey,  San  Juan  Capistrano  and  Sao 
Diego,  on  the  coast,  south  of  Los  Angeles. 

The  wealth  and  power  in  the  possession  of  these  Missions  nata- 
raUy  excited  the  jealousy  of  Government,  after  California  wa« 
organized  into  a  territory.  The  padres,  however,  had  been  granted 
almost  unlimited  privileges  by  the  earlier  Viceroys,  and  for  a  long 
time  no  authority  could  be  found  to  dispossess  them.  A  decree 
of  the  Spanish  Cortes,  in  1813,  relating  to  the  Missions  of  South 
America,  was  made  the  basis  of  repeated  attempts  to  overthrow 
the  temporal  power  of  the  padres,  but  without  effect,  and  from  1800 
to  1830,  they  revelled  securely  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  theii 
wealthy  establishments. 

That,  indeed,  was  thdr  age  of  gold — a  right  bounteous  and  proB- 
perous  time,  townrd  which  many  of  the  Californian  and  even  of  th« 
old  American  residents,  look  back  with  regret.  Then,  each  Mia- 
flon  was  a  little  principality,  with  its  hundred  thousand  acres,  and 
Its  twenty  thousand  head  of  cattle.     All  the  Indian  population 


182  ELDORADO. 

except  the  "  Gentiles"  of  the  mountains,  were  the  subjects  of  the 
padres,  cultivating  for  them  their  broad  lands  and  reverencing 
them  with  the  same  devout  faith  as  they  did  the  patron  saint  of  the 
settlement.  The  spacious  galleries,  halls  and  courtyards  of  the 
Missions  exhibited  every  sign  of  order  and  good  government,  and 
from  the  long  rows  of  adobe  houses  flanking  them  an  obedient 
crowd  came  forth,  at  the  sound  of  morning  and  evening  chimes. 
The  tables  of  the  padres  were  laden  with  the  finest  fruits  and 
vegetables  from  their  thrifty  gardens  and  orchards,  and  flasks  Oi 
excellent  wine  from  their  own  vineyards.  The  stranger  who  came 
that  way  was  entertained  with  a  lavish  hospitality  for  which  all  re- 
compense was  proudly  refused,  and  on  leaving,  was  welcome  to 
exchange  his  spent  horse  for  his  pick  out  of  the  caballada.  Nearly 
all  the  commerce  of  the  country  with  other  nations  was  in  their 
hands.  Long  habits  of  management  and  economy  gave  them  a 
great  aptitude  for  business  of  all  kinds,  and  each  succeeding  year 
witnessed  an  increase  of  their  wealth  and  authority. 

The  first  blow  given  to  their  privileges,  was  a  decree  of  the  Su- 
preme Government  of  Mexico,  dated  August  17,  1833,  by  which 
the  Missions  of  Upper  and  Lower  California  were  secularized  and 
became  public  property.  They  were  converted  by  law  into 
parishes,  and  the  padres,  from  being  virtual  sovereigns  of  their 
domains,  became  merely  curates,  possessing  only  spiiitual  powers 
.wer  their  former  subjects.  Instead  of  managing  the  revenue  oi 
the  estates,  they  were  paid  from  $2,000  to  $2,500,  at  the  option 
<rf  Government.  The  church  was  still  kept  for  religious  purposes. 
Msd  the  principal  building  for  the  curate's  house,  while  other  por- 
tions of  the  establishment  were  appropriated  to  the  purposes  oi 
tonrt-houses  and  schools. 

This  law  of  course  emancipated  the  Indians  from  the  anthorit^i 


tRElR   DOWNFALL.  18S 

of  th  pi  Iros,  and  likewise  absolved  the  latter  fiom  their  obliga< 
tions  to  inaiutain  thera.  To  provide  for  their  support,  therefore, 
the  Governmont  granted  to  every  head  of  a  family  a  lot  from  one 
to  four  hundred  varas  square,  which  was  assigned  to  the  use  yf 
themselves  and  their  descendants,  but  could  not  be  sold  by  them 
under  penally  of  the  land  reverting  back  to  the  public  domain. 
The  temporaj  affairs  of  each  jNILssion  were  placed  under  the  charge 
of  an  A\-untarniento,  who  was  commissioned  to  explain  to  the  In- 
dians the  new  rt.lations  and  put  them  in  possession  of  the  land 
A  portion  of  the  reven'i^  was  applied  to  their  benefit,  and  in  re- 
turn therefor  they  were  oblicjed  to  assist  in  cultivating  the  commor 
lands  of  tlie  I'ew  pueblos  vi  [larishos.  By  a  further  decree,  in 
1840,  (rovcmor  Alvaradj  substituted  niajordomos  in  place  of  the 
ajTintamientos,  giving  them  power  to  manage  the  temporal  affairs 
of  the  Missions,  but  not  to  dispose  of  the  revenues  or  contract 
debts  without  the  permission  of  Government. 

These  decrees  put  a  stop  to  the  prosperity  of  the  Missions.  Thr 
Padres,  seeing  the  establishments  taken  out  of  their  hands,  employed 
themselves  no  longer  in  superintending  their  cultivation  ;  while 
the  Indians,  though  free,  lost  the  patient  guidance  and  encourage- 
ment they  had  received,  and  relapsed  into  their  hereditary  habita 
of  sloth  and  stupidity.  Many  of  them  scattered  from  their  homes, 
resuming  a  roving  life  among  the  mountains,  and  very  soon  several 
of  the  Missions  almost  ceased  to  have  an  existence.  Gov.  Michel- 
torena,  therefore,  m  1843,  in  a  pompous  proclamation  setting  forth 
bis  loyalty  to  the  Catholic  Faith,  attempted  to  restore  the  former 
tate  of  things  by  delivering  twelve  of  the  Missions  into  the  hands 
of  the  priests.  He  declared,  at  the  same  time,  that  all  the  cattle 
and  property  should  be  given  up  to  them,  but  that  those  portions 
of  the  Mission  estates  which  had  been  granted  to  individuals  should 


1^  fiLDOllAOO. 

still  remain  in  poreession  of  the  latter.  The  proclamation,  bo  fai 
as  I  can  learn,  never  went  into  effect,  and  the  chasing  of  Michel 
toreua  from  the  country  soon  put  an  end  to  his  plans 

In  the  year  1845  Governor  Pio  Pico  completed  the  obliteration 
of  the  Missions.  By  a  Government  decree  he  directed  that  tha 
Missions  of  San  Juan,  Carmel,  San  Francisco  Solano  and  San 
Juan  Capistrano  should  be  sold  at  auction  on  a  specified  day. 
One  month's  notice  was  given  to  the  Indian  neophytes  of  the 
Missions  of  San  Rafael,  Dolores,  Soledad,  San  Miguel  and  La 
Purisima  to  return  to  the  cultivation  and  occupancy  of  the  lands 
assigned  them  by  Government,  otherwise  the  same  should  be  de- 
clared unoccupied  and  disposed  of  like  the  preceding.  All  the 
remaining  Missions,  except  the  Episcopal  Mansion  at  Santa  Bar- 
bara, were  to  be  rented.  Of  the  proceeds  of  these  sales  and  leases 
one-third  was  to  be  used  for  the  support  of  the  resident  priests, 
one-third  for  the  benefit  of  the  Indians,  and  the  remaining  third 
constituting  the  Pious  Fund  of  California  to  be  applied  to  purposes 
of  education  and  beneficence. 

The  Indian  neophytes  of  the  five  last-named  Missions  having 
neglected  to  assemble,  Pico,  by  a  decree  in  October,  1845,  or- 
dered that  they  should  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder  ;  and  at  the 
same  time,  that  those  of  San  Fernando,  Buenaventura,  Santa 
Barbara  and  Santa  Ynez,  should  be  rented  for  the  term  of  nine 
years.  This  was  the  last  valid  decree  touching  the  Missions. 
The  remaining  Missions  of  Santa  Clara,  San  Jose,  Santa  Gnu, 
San  Antonio,  San  Luis  Obispo,  San  Gabriel  and  San  Diego  werp 
therefore  thrown  immediately  into  the  hands  of  the  United  States 
after  possession  had  been  taken  by  our  troops  ;  and  all  Missies 
property  not  legally  granted  or  sold  under  the  laws  of  California 
becomes  part  of  the  public  domain. 


KZTERT   OF   THE   MISSION    PBOPERTT.  186 

I  endeavored  to  obtain  some  statistics  of  the  land,  cattle  and 
other  property  belonging  to  the  various  Missions.  The  data  on 
record,  however,  partake  of  the  same  indefinite  character  as  the 
description  of  lands  for  which  grants  are  asked.  I  found,  it  \s 
true,  an  account  of  the  boundaries  of  most  of  the  Missions,  with 
the  quality  of  the  land  embraced  by  them,  but  the  particulars, 
Dotwithstandrng  they  were  given  by  the  resident  padres  themselves, 
are  very  unsatisfactory.  The  lands  are  described  as  lying  between 
certain  hills  and  rivers,  or  embracing  certain  plains  ;  sometimes 
they  are  spoken  of  as  canadas  or  llanos  only.  Some  are  of  great 
pxtent ;  the  Mission  lands  of  San  Antonio  contain  two  hundred 
and  twenty-five  square  leagues  and  those  of  San  Miguel  five  hun- 
dred and  thirty-two.  The  others  vary  from  twenty  to  one  hun- 
dred square  leagues.  At  a  rough  guess,  I  should  compute  Hbe 
original  Mission  lands  at  about  eight  millions  of  acres ;  probably 
four  to  five  millions  of  acres  have  since  been  disposed  of  by  sales 
and  grants.  The  remaining  three  millions  of  acres,  comprising 
the  finest  lands  in  California,  are  the  property  of  the  United  States. 
As  much  of  it  has  been  cultivated,  or  is  capable  of  immediate 
adaptation  for  the  planting  of  orchards,  gardens  and  vineyards,  the 
sale  or  disposal  of  it  would  seem  to  require  different  regulations 
from  those  which  govern  other  portions  of  the  public  domain. 

The  Mission  buildings  now  are  but  wrecks  of  their  former  con- 
dition. The  broken  walls,  deserted  corrals,  and  roofless  dwellings 
which  surround  them,  are  but  melancholy  evidences  of  their  an- 
cient prosperity.  Their  character  for  wealth  and  hospitality  has 
passed  away  with  the  rule  of  the  padres  and  the  vassalage  of  the 
Indians.  They  have  had  their  day.  They  have  fulfilled  (and 
nobly,  too,  be  it  acknowledged)  the  purpose  of  their  creation.  I 
see  no  cause  for  lamenting,  as  many  do,  over  their  downfall.     The 


189  SLDORADO. 

spiiit  of  enterprise  which  has  now  taken  firm  root  in  the  Boil,  vnL 
make  thoir  neglected  gardens  blossom  again,  and  deck  their  waste 
fields  with  abundant  harvests. 

A  subject  of  more  direct  interest  to  the  California  emigrants,  is 
that  of  the  character  and  validity  of  the  grants  made  to  settlers 
previous  to  the  acquisition  of  the  country.  The  extravagant  pitch 
to  which  land  speculation  has  risen,  and  the  uncertain  tenure  by 
which  many  of  the  best  locations  along  the  coast  are  held,  render 
some  official  examination  and  adjustment  very  necessary.  The 
amount  of  speculation  which  has  already  been  done  on  an  insecure 
basis,  will  give  rise  to  endless  litigation,  when  the  proper  tribunal 
shall  have  been  established.  MeanwhUe,  a  brief  account  of  tho 
character  of  the  grants,  derived  partly  from  Capt.  Halleck's  ad- 
mirable Report  on  California  Afiuirs  and  partly  from  an  examina- 
tion of  the  grants  themselves,  may  not  be  without  its  interest  and 
uses. 

The  first  general  decree  for  the  granting  of  lands  bears  date  of 
June,  1779,  when  Governor  Neve,  then  established  at  Monterey, 
drew  up  a  series  of  regulations,  which  were  approved  by  the  King 
of  Spain,  and  for  more  than  forty  years  remained  in  force,  with 
little  modification,  throughout  the  territory.  To  each  poblador 
(settler)  was  granted  a  bounty  of  $116  44  per  annum  for  the  first 
two  years,  and  $60  per  annum  for  the  three  following,  with  the 
loan  of  horses,  cattle  and  farming  utensils  from  the  Government 
Bupplies.  Settlers  in  pueblos,  or  towns,  had  likewise  the  privilege 
of  pasturing  their  stock  on  the  lands  belonging  to  the  town.  Many 
of  the  minor  regulations  established  in  this  decree  of  Gov.  Neve, 
arf  sufficiently  amusing.  For  instance,  no  poblador  is  allowed  to 
sell  any  of  his  animals,  until  he  shall  possess  fifteen  mares  and  on*" 
stallion,  fifteen  cows  and  one  bull,  and  so  on,  down  to  cocks  and 


THE    LAW    FOR    GRANTING    LANDS.  ifft 

heas.     H«  must  then  >-q\\  his   xt:  a  stock  to  the  Government,  wbiek, 
of  course  pays  its  own  price. 

These  regulations,  designed  only  for  the  first  rude  stage  of 
lolonization,  were  superseded  by  the  decree  of  the  Mexican  Re 
public  for  the  colonization  of  its  Territories,  dated  Aug.  18,  1824, 
which  was  further  limited  and  defined  by  a  seiien  of  regulations, 
dated  Nov.  21,  1828.  Up  to  the  time  when  California  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  United  States,  no  modifications  were  made 
to  these  acts,  and  they  consequently  remain  in  force.  Their  most 
important  provisions  are  as  follows : 

The  Governor  of  the  Territory  is  empowered  to  make  grants 
of  lands  to  contractors  (for  towns  or  colonies)  and  individuals  or 
beads  of  families.  Grants  of  the  first-named  class  require  the  ap- 
proval of  the  Supreme  Government  to  make  them  valid.  For  the 
latter  the  ratification  of  the  Territorial  Assembly  is  necessary ; 
but  in  no  case  can  the  Governor  make  grants  of  any  land  lying 
within  ten  leagues  of  the  sea-coast  or  within  twenty  leagues  of 
the  boundaries  of  any  foreign  power,  without  the  previous  ap- 
proval of  the  Supreme  Government.  The  authorities  of  towns, 
however,  are  allowed  to  dispose  of  lands  lying  within  the  town 
lira  lis,  the  proceeds  to  be  paid  into  the  municipal  fund.  The 
maximum  extent  of  a  single  grant  is  fixed  at  one  square  league  of 
irrigable  land,  four  of  temporal,  or  land  where  produce  depends  on 
the  seasons,  and  six  of  land  for  pasturing  and  rearing  cattle — 
eleven  square  leagues  (about  fifty  thousand  acresj  in  all.  Th 
minimum  extent  is  two  hundred  vai-as  square  (a  vara  is  a  little 
less  than  a  yard)  of  irrigable  land,  eight  hundred  of  temporal,  and 
twelve  hundred  of  pasturage.  The  size  of  a  house  lot  in  any  of 
the  pueblos  is  fixed  at  one  hundred  vs.ras.  The  irregular  space* 
and  patches  lying  between  the  boundaries  of  grants  throughout 


i68  eLboRADo. 

the  country  are  to  be  distributed  among  tbe  colonists  wlo  cccupj 
the  adjoining  land,  or  their  children,  preference  being  given  to 
those  who  have  distinguished  themselves  by  their  industry  and 
moral  deportment. 

All  grants  not  made  in  accordance  with  these  regulations,  from 
the  time  of  their  adoption  up  to  July  7, 1846,  when  the  American 
flag  was  raised  at  Monterey  and  the  Departmental  Junta  broken 
up,  are  not  strictly  valid,  according  to  Mexican  law.  The  re- 
strictions against  lands  within  ten  leagues  of  the  sea-coast  were 
never  removed.  The  only  legal  grant  of  such  land,  was  that  made 
to  Captain  Stephen  Smith,  of  the  port  of  Bodega,  which  received 
the  approval  of  the  Supreme  Grovernment.  In  the  Macnamara 
Colonization  Grant,  made  by  Pio  Pico,  only  four  days  before  the 
occupation  of  Monterey  by  our  forces,  it  is  expressly  stated  that 
the  consent  of  the  Mexican  Government  is  necessary  to  make  it 
valid.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  distinct  provision,  large  tracts  of  this 
coast,  from  San  Francisco  to  San  Diego,  were  granted  to  citizens 
and  colonists  by  Figueroa,  Alvarado  and  other  Governors.  All 
these  acts,  having  never  received  the  sanction  of  the  Supreme 
Government,  would,  by  a  literal  construction  of  the  law  oq  null 
and  void.  The  Supreme  Government  of  Mexico  always  reserved 
to  itself  the  right  of  using  any  portion  of  the  coast,  promontories, 
harbors  or  public  land  of  the  intenor,  for  the  purpose  of  meeting 
forts,  arsenals  or  national  storehouses. 

There  are  on  file  in  the  archives  about  five  hundred  and  eighty 
grants,  made  by  various  Governors  between  1828  and  1846. 
Probably  one  hundred  of  these  lack  the  full  requirements  of  the 
Mexican  law — exclusive  of  those  located  on  the  sea-coast.  Some 
»re  complete  and  %tisfactory  in  all  respects,  to  the  signature  of 
the  Governor,  bat  the  concurrence  of  the  Territorial    \ssemblv 


ON  CERTAIN    BOUNDARIES   OF    GRANTS.  189 

is  wanting.  In  others  the  final  concession  is  withheld  for  the  puTi 
pose  of  procm-ing  further  information.  Others  again,  appear  to 
have  been  neglected  by  the  proper  authorities,  and  a  few,  on  fur- 
ther testimony,  have  been  denied.  As  the  owners  of  such  lands, 
in  many  instances,  are  entirely  unaware  of  the  imperfect  nature 
of  their  titles,  many  sales  and  transfers  have  been  made  in  good 
faith,  which  will  hereafter  be  invalidated.  Some  individuals  have 
acted  in  a  more  reprehensible  manner,  by  making  sales  of  lands  to 
which  they  had  no  legal  claim. 

In  settling  the  boundaries  of  grants,  which  are  sound  in  every 
respect,  there  will  nevertheless  be  some  difficulty.  Much  of  the 
land  was  never  surveyed,  the  locality  and  character  beinsr  rude^ 
sketched  on  paper  by  the  petitioner,  sometimes  without  any  speci- 
fied extent,  and  sometimes  with  a  guess  at  the  quantity,  which  is 
often  very  wide  of  the  mark.  Such  sketch,  or  topographical  out- 
line is,  I  believe,  required  by  law,  and  the  collection  embraced  in  the 
number  of  grants  and  applications  on  file,  exhibits  a  most  curious  va- 
riety of  attempts  at  drawing.  In  the  absence  of  any  further  clue, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  many  of  the  localities  or  anything  in 
the  least  resembling  them.  The  boundaries  are  frequently  given 
as  included  within  certain  hills,  arroyos,  rivers  and  marshes,  but 
the  space  so  designated  firequently  contains  double  the  amount  of 
land  asked  for. 

On  the  lands  throughout  the  country,  known  and  recognized  as 
belonging  to  the  United  States,  a  number  of  emigrants  havfl 
established  themselves,  making  choice  of  advantageous  locations, 
&nd  trusting  to  obtain  possession  by  right  of  preeminence  as  seir 
flers.  Nearly  all  of  the  fords  on  the  Sacramento  and  San 
Joaquin  and  their  tributaries — the  springs  and  meadow  lands  at 
\ho  bases  of  the  mountains—  and  all  sites  which  seem  calculated 


190  ELDORADO 

for  fatuie  towus  or  villages — have  been  appropriated  in  like  man 
net.  The  discovery  of  gold  has  rendered  any  bounty  unneccs 
Bary,  to  promote  emigration. 

T  endeavored  to  ascertain  the  exact  extent  of  granted  land  in 
California,  as  well  as  the  amount  which  will  remain  to  the  United 
States  J  but  owing  to  the  indefinite  character  of  many  of  the 
grants,  and  the  absence  of  correct  statistical  information,  was 
unable  fully  to  succeed.  The  geographical  lunits  within  which 
the  grants  are  embraced,  are  more  easily  traced.  By  referring  to 
Fremont's  Map  of  California,  a  line  drawn  from  the  mouth  of 
Russian  River,  on  the  Pacific,  north  of  Bodega,  to  the  mouth  of 
Rio  Chico,  a  tributary  of  the  Sacramento,  and  continued  to  the 
Sierra  Nevada,  would  comprise  the  northern  limit.  From  this  line 
to  the  Oregon  boundary — a  region  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in 
length  by  two  hundred  in  breadth — belongs  to  the  public  domain. 
The  land  about  the  mouths  of  the  Sacramento  and  San  Joaquin, 
with  some  tracts  on  the  Rio  Americano,  Cosumne,  Calaveras 
and  Mariposa,  is  included  in  various  grants,  but  the  remainder 
of  the  settled  land  as  you  go  southward,  is  upon  the  western  side 
of  the  Coast  Range,  and  all  of  it  within  ninety  miles  of  the 
sea.  The  best  agricultural  districts — those  of  Napa,  San  Jose 
and  Los  Angeles — are  already  settled  and  cultivated,  but  the 
upper  portion  of  the  Sacramento  country,  the  valleys  of  Trinity 
River  and  Russian  River,  and  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada, embrace  a  great  deal  of  arable  land  of  excellent -quality 
The  valleys  of  the  Coast  Range  north  of  San  Francisco  Bay  have 
been  but  partially  explored. 

The  entire  gold  district  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  belongs  to  the 
United  States,  with  the  exception  of  Johnson's  Ranche  on  Beai 
Creek,  Sutter's  possessions  on  the  Rio  Americano,  a  grant  on  th« 


BISPOglTION    OF    THE    GOLD    LAND.  191 

CoBunme,  and  Alvarado's  Eanche  on  the  Mariposa,  now  in  posses* 
nion  of  Col.  Fremont.  Some  anxiety  is  felt  among  the  mining 
population,  as  to  the  disposition  which  the  Government  will  make 
of  these  vast  storehouses  of  wealth.  The  day  before  the  adjourn 
ment  of  the  Convention,  a  resolution  was  offered,  requesting  Con- 
gress not  to  dispose  of  any  part  of  the  gold  region,  but  to  suffer  it 
to  remain  free  to  all  American  citizens.  It  was  defeated  by  a 
bare  majority,  but  many  of  those  voting  nay,  avowed  themselves 
in  favor  of  the  spirit  of  the  resolution,  objecting  to  its  adoption  on 
the  ground  of  propriety  alone.  The  population,  generally,  is  op- 
posed to  the  sale  of  gold  land  for  the  reason  that  it  would  proba- 
bly fall  into  the  hands  of  speculators,  to  the  disadvantage  of  the 
mining  class.  The  lease  of  land  would  present  the  same  objec- 
tions, besides  being  but  an  uncertain  privilege.  The  fairest  and 
most  sati»5factory  course  would  be  the  imposition  of  a  small  per 
centage  on  the  amount  of  gold  actually  dug  or  washed  out  by 
each  individual  or  company.  The  miners  would  not  object  tc 
this  ;  they  only  oppose  any  regulation  which  would  give  specai& 
tcrs  a  chance  to  elbow  them  out  of  their  *  bars'  and  '  pockets* 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

RETURN    TO    SAN    FRANCISCO 

Abter  the  adjournment  of  the  Convention,  Monterey  relapsed 
unto  its  former  quiet,  and  I  soon  began  to  feel  the  old  impatience 
and  longing  for  motion  and  change.  The  season  was  waning,  and 
barely  time  enough  remained  for  the  accomplishment  of  my  de- 
sign of  a  journey  to  the  head  of  the  Sacramento  Valley.  My 
friend,  Lieut.  Beale,  with  whom  I  had  beguiled  many  an  hour  in 
tracing  out  plans  for  overland  journeys  and  explorations,  which 
should  combine  a  spice  of  bold  adventure  with  the  acqui/»ition  of 
permanently  useful  knowledge,  had  left  a  week  previouB,  m  com- 
pany with  Col.  Fremont  and  his  family.  A  heavy  fog  had  for 
several  days  lain  like  a  bar  across  the  mouth  of  the  bay,  and  we 
feared  that  the  anxiously-awaited  steamer  fi-om  Panama  would 
pass  without  touching.  This  was  a  question  of  interest,  as  there 
had  been  no  mail  from  the  Atlantic  States  for  more  than  two 
months,  and  the  general  impatience  on  that  account  was  painful 
to  witness.  Under  these  circumstances,  I  grew  tired  of  looking 
on  the  fresh,  sparkling,  intense  blue  of  the  bay  and  the  dewy- 
violet  shadows  of  the  mountains  beyond  it,  and  so  one  fine  mom* 
ing  thrust  my  few  moveable  e  into  my  knapsack  and  rolled  up  m-j 
varape  for  a  start. 


JOURNET    IN    AN    AMBULANCK  193 

I  had  a  better  reliance  than  my  own  feet,  in  making  the  jour- 
ney Mr.  Semple,  ex-President  of  the  Convention,  with  his  son 
and  two  of  the  ex- Clerks,  were  about  leaving,  and  I  was  offered 
the  means  of  conveyance  as  far  as  Pueblo  San  Jose.  Mr.  Semple 
was  barely  recovering  from  a  severe  attack  of  typhoid  fever,  and 
was  obliged  to  be  conveyed  in  an  army  ambulance,  which  was 
furnished  by  Capt.  Kane,  of  the  Quartermaster's  Department. 
We  started  at  noon,  under  a  hot,  bright  sun,  though  the  entrance 
to  the  bay  was  still  covered  by  the  bar  of  dark  fog.  The  steamer 
Unicorn  was  anxiously  expected,  and  as  a  gun  had  been  heard 
during  the  night.  Gen.  Riley  ordered  a  shot  to  be  fired  .from  the 
fort  every  half-hour,  as  a  guide  for  the  steamer,  should  she  be 
outside.  Had  there  been  any  certainty  of  her  arrival,  our  haste 
to  receive  the  long-delayed  mail  would  have  induced  us  to  post 
pone  the  journey. 

We  toiled  through  the  desolate  sand-hills  to  the  Salinas  River, 
and  lanched  again  upon  its  broad,  level  plains.  Our  team  con- 
sisted of  four  Californian  horses,  neither  of  which  had  ever  been  a 
week  in  harness,  and  consequently  were  not  broken  of  the  dashing 
gait  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed.  The  driver  was  an 
emigrant  who  arrived  two  months  previous,  by  the  Gila  route, 
after  suffering  tho  most  terrible  privations.  We  had  all  our  pro- 
visions, blankets  and  camping  utensils  stowed  in  the  ambulance, 
and  as  it  was  not  large  enough  to  contain  our  bodies  likewise,  two 
of  the  party  followed  in  a  light  wagon.  Under  the  steady  gallop 
at  which  our  fiery  horses  drew  us,  the  blue  ridges  of  the  Sierra  de 
GavUan  soon  rose  high  and  bleak  before  us,  and  the  timbered 
shores  of  the  plain  came  in  sight.  Our  crossing  of  the  arroyos 
would  have  startled  even  an  Alleghany  stage-driver.  When  one 
of  these  huge  gullies  yawned  before  us,  there  was  no  check  ot  oni 

VOL.    I.  9 


194  jfiLDOKADO. 

speed.  We  dashed  sheer  off  the  brink  at  an  angle  of  fifty  de 
g^ees;  there  was  a  giddy  sensation  of  failing  foi  an  instant,  and 
in  the  next  our  heavy  vehicle  regained  the  level,  carried  half-way 
ap  the  opposite  steep  by  the  momentura  of  our  descent.  Tht 
excitement  of  such  a  plunge  was  delightful :  the  leaping  of  'k  jv©- 
arrod  gate  on  an  English  hunter  would  have  been  tame  to  it. 
On  the  skirt  of  the  timber  Mr.  Semple  pointed  out  the  scene  of 
A  battle  between  the  Californian  and  American  troops,  during  the 
war.  Foster,  a  scout  belonging  to  the  company  of  Emigrant 
Volunteers,  while  reconnoitering  along  the  bases  of  the  mountains, 
discovered  a  body  of  two  hundred  Californians  on  the  plain.  He 
immediately  sent  word  to  Burrows'  company  of  Americans,  then 
at  the  Mission  San  Juan,  and  in  the  meantime  attacked  them  with 
the  small  force  accompanying  him.  The  fight  was  carried  on 
among  the  trees.  When  the  Americans — sixty-six  in  all — arrived 
on  the  field,  they  found  Foster  dead,  with  eleven  wounds  on  his 
body.  Four  Americans  and  seven  Californians  were  shot  in  the 
fight,  which  resulted  in  the  defeat  of  the  latter  and  their  retreat 
up  the  plains  to  their  post  at  the  Mission  of  Soledad.  Foster  was 
buried  where  he  fell,  under  a  large  oak,  near  the  road. 

We  entered  the  mountains,  and  encamped  about  dusk  in  a 
sheltered  glen,  watered  by  a  little  stream.  Some  benevolent  pre- 
decessor had  left  us  a  good  stock  of  wood,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
ruddy  lights  of  our  fire  were  dancing  over  the  gnarled  oak-boughs, 
and  their  streamers  of  grey  moss.  I  tried  my  hand,  for  the  first 
time,  at  making  coflfee,  while  the  others  spitted  pieces  of  meat  on 
long  twigs  and  thrust  them  into  the  blaze.  My  coffee  was  approved 
by  the  company,  and  the  seasoning  of  the  keen  mountain  air  was 
not  lost  on  our  meal.  The  pipe  of  peace — never  omitted  by  the 
genuine  trapper  or  mountaineer — followed  ;  after  which  we  spread 


NIGHT    AND    MORNING    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS.  195 

Oiir  blankets  on  the  ground  and  looked  at  the  stars  through  the 
chinks  of  the  boughs,  till  we  dropped  asleep.  There  is  no  rest  bo 
BW3et  as  that  taken  on  the  hard  bosom  of  Mother  Earth.  I  ^epi 
soundly  in  our  spacious  bed-chamber,  undisturbed  even  by  the  jon- 
tinued  barking  whine  of  the  coyotes.  The  cool,  spaikling  dawn 
called  us  up  betimes,  to  rekindle  the  fire  and  resume  cooking. 
When  the  sun  made  his  appearance  above  the  hills,  our  driver  said : 
"  There  comes  old  Hannah,  to  open  the  shutters  of  our  house  and 
let  in  the  light" — the  most  ludicrous  combination  of  scullionish 
and  poetical  ideas  it  was  ever  my  lot  to  hear.  I  must  acknowledge, 
however,  that  "  Old  Hannah"  did  her  office  well,  giving  our  noose 
the  most  cheery  illumination. 

As  we  wound  through  the  lonely  passes  of  the  mountains,  Mr. 
Semple  pointed  out  many  spots  where  he  had  hidden  on  his  night- 
rides  as  messenger  between  San  Francisco  and  Monterey  during 
the  war.  From  some  of  the  heights  we  looked  down  valleys  that 
stretched  away  towards  Santa  Cruz,  and  could  discern  the  dark 
lines  of  redwood  timber  along  their  border.  The  forest  near  the 
Mission  contains  the  largest  specimens  of  this  tree  to  be  found  in 
California,  some  of  the  trunks,  as  I  was  credibly  informed,  mea- 
Bnring  fifteen  feet  in  diameter.  Captain  Graham,  an  old  settler, 
had  five  saw-mills  in  operation,  which  he  leased  to  speculators  at 
the  rate  of  fifty  dollars  per  day  for  each.  The  timber  is  soft  and 
easily  worked,  susceptible  of  a  fine  polish,  and  when  kept  dry,  as 
m  the  interior  of  buildings,  will  last  for  centuries. 

Midway  down  one  of  the  long  descents,  we  met  Messrs.  Marcy 
tnd  Tefft,  who  had  been  to  San  Francisco  to  attend  to  the  printing 
if  the  Constitution,  bundles  of  which,  in  English  and  Spanish, 
were  strapped  to  their  saddles.  Our  next  incident  was  the  dis- 
<K>yerj  of  three  grizzly  bears,  on  the  side  of  a  oaflada,  about  a 


Id6  ELDORAiOO. 

quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  Mr.  Semple,  who,  with  the  keen  siglit 
of  one  accustomed  to  mountain  life,  was  on  the  alort  for  game,  first 
espied  them.  They  were  moving  lazily  among  a  cluster  of  oaks; 
their  bodies  were,  apparently,  as  large  as  that  of  a  mule,  but  an 
dxperienced  eye  could  at  once  detect  the  greater  thickness  and 
shortness  of  their  legs.  We  had  no  other  arms  than  pistols  and 
knives,  and  no  horses  of  sufficient  fleetness  to  have  ventured  an 
attack  with  safety  ;  so  we  passed  on  with  many  a  wistful  and  lin- 
gering look,  for  the  gray  hide  of  one  of  those  huge  beasts  would 
have  been  a  trophy  well  worth  the  capture.  Indeed,  the  oldest 
hunter,  when  he  meets  a  grizzly  bear,  prefers  making  a  boy's  bar 
gain — "  If  you'll  let  me  alone,  I'll  let  you  alone."  They  are 
rarely  known  to  attack  a  man  when  unprovoked,  but  when  wounded 
no  Indian  tiger  is  more  formidable. 

Towards  noon  we  reached  the  Mission  San  Juan.  The  bands 
of  emigrants  from  the  South  had  stripped  all  the  fruit-trees  in  its 
gardens,  but  at  a  tienda  in  the  Mission  building,  we  were  supplied 
with  pears  at  the  rate  of  three  for  a  real — plump,  luscious  fruit, 
with  russet  peel,  and  so  mellow  that  they  would  scarcely  bear 
handling.  While  we  were  idling  an  hour  in  the  warm  corridor, 
trying  to  maintain  a  conversation  in  Spanish  with  some  of  the  na- 
tives, a  brother  of  Mr.  Semple,  who  had  come  from  Benicia  to 
meet  him,  rode  up  to  the  inn.  He  had  a  gray  horse,  whose  trot 
was  remarkably  rough,  and  at  his  request  I  changed  places,  giving 
up  to  him  ray  seat  in  the  ambulance.  We  dashed  out  on  the  plain 
of  San  Juan  at  a  full  gallop,  but  my  perverse  animal  soon  lagged 
behind.  He  was  what  is  called  a  "  Snake  horse,"  of  the  breed 
owned  by  the  Snake  Indians  in  Oregon,  whence,  in  fact,  he  had 
been  brought,  still  retaming  the  steady,  deliberate  pace  at  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  hnul  lodge-poles.     His  trot  was  rack 


FORDING     IHE    PAJARO    RIVER.  ^    191 

ing,  and  as  a  final  resort  to  procure  a  gallop,  I  borrowed  a  pair  of 
very  sharp  spurs  from  our  driver.  At  the  first  touch  the  old  Snake 
started  ;  at  the  second  he  laid  his  ears  flatly  back,  gave  a  snort 
and  sprang  forward  with  galvanic  energy,  taking  me  far  in  advanw 
of  the  flying  ambulance.  It  was  so  long  since  he  had  traveled 
uch  a  pace  that  he  seemed  as  much  astonished  as  I  was  at  thf 
dffeot  of  my  spurs. 

The  ambulance  at  last  reached  the  Pajaro  River,  which  flowed 
between  deep  and  precipitous  banks.  The  four  horses  plunge* 
down  the  declivity  ;  the  ambulance  followed  with  a  terrible  shock 
which  urged  it  into  the  middle  of  the  stream,  where  it  stuck,  the 
king-bolt  having  been  snapped  off.  We  partly  stripped,  and  aftei 
working  an  hour  with  the  ice-cold  water  above  our  knees,  succeeded 
in  fastening  with  chains  the  fragment  of  the  bolt.  It  was  now 
dinner-time,  and  we  soon  had  a  blaze  among  the  willows  and  a  pot 
of  coffee  boiling  before  it.  The  beverage,  which  never  tasted  more 
refreshing,  sent  a  fine  glow  into  our  benumbed  nether  limbs,  and 
put  us  into  traveling  humor  again.  The  Pajaro  Plains,  around 
the  head  of  the  river,  are  finely  watered,  and  under  proper  culti- 
vation would  produce  splendid  crops.  From  the  ridge  descending 
to  the  valley  of  San  Jose  we  overlooked  their  broad  expanse.  The 
meadows  were  still  green,  and  the  belts  of  stately  sycamore  had 
not  yet  shed  a  leaf.  I  haUed  the  beautiful  valley  with  pleasure, 
although  its  soil  was  more  parched  and  arid  than  when  I  passed 
before,  and  the  wild  oats  on  the  mountains  rolled  no  longer  in 
waves  of  gold.  Their  sides  were  brown  and  naked  to  desolation  ; 
the  dead  umber  color  of  the  landscape,  towards  sunset,  was  mora 
cheerless  than  a  mid-November  storm.  A  traveler  seeing  Cali- 
fornia only  at  this  season,  would  never  be  tempted  to  settle. 

As  we  journeyed  down   the  valley,   flocks  of  wild  geosc  jiiid 


198  ELCORADO. 

brant,  cleaving  the  air  with  their  arrow-shaped  Knes,  descended  tc 
their  roost  in  the  meadows.  On  their  favorite  grounds,  near  the 
head  of  Pajaro  River,  they  congregated  to  the  number  of  millions, 
hundreds  of  acres  being  in  many  places  actually  hidden  undet 
their  dense  ranks.  They  form  in  columns  as  they  alight,  and 
their  stations  at  roost  are  as  regularly  arranged  as  in  any  military 
camp.  As  the  season  advances  and  their  number  is  increased  by 
new  arrivals,  they  become  so  regardless  of  human  presence  that 
the  rancheros  kiU  large  quantities  with  clubs.  The  Dative 
children  have  a  curious  method  of  entrapping  them  while  oa  the 
wing.  They  tie  two  bones  at  the  ends  of  a  string  about  a  yard  in 
length,  which  they  hurl  into  the  air  so  skilfully  that  in  falling  it 
forms  an  arch.  As  the  geese  fly  low,  this  instrument,  dropping 
into  a  flock,  generally  takes  one  of  them  across  the  neck  ;  the 
bones  fall  on  each  side  and  drag  the  goose  to  the  earth,  where  he 
is  at  once  seized  and  dispatched. 

We  passed  Murphy's  Ranche  and  the  splendid  peak  of  El  Toro 
and  reached  Fisher's  Ranche  as  the  blaze  of  camp-fires  under  the 
sycamores  was  beginning  to  show  through  the  dusk.  Here  we 
found  Major  Hill,  who,  with  Mr.  Durivage  and  Midshipman 
Games,  with  six  men  from  the  wreck  of  the  propeller  Edith,  had 
left  Monterey  the  day  before  ourselves.  Their  fire  was  kindled, 
the  cooking  implements  in  order,  and  several  of  the  party  em- 
ployed in  the  task  of  picking  three  wild  geese  and  preparing  thea 
for  the  pan.  While  at  supper,  one  of  Capt.  Fisher's  men  excited 
the  sporting  propensities  of  some  of  our  party  by  describing  a 
lake  in  the  valley,  where  the  geese  roosted  in  immense  quantities 
As  it  was  not  more  than  a  mile  distant,  muskets  were  got  rea(?y 
and  four  of  the  sportsmen  set  out  by  moonlight.  They  found 
Bome  di£Bculty,  however,  in  fishing  out  the  geese  after  they  werf 


A    SIROCCO    IN    SAN    JOSfe.  199 

«hot,  and  only  broucrht  two  with  them  at  midnight.  1,  who  waa 
fatigued  with  my  management  of  the  Snake  horse,  crept  into  a 
cart-bed  near  the  Ranche,  laid  a  raw-hide  over  the  top  and  wai» 
foon  floating  adrift  on  a  sea  of  dreams. 

We  had  harnessed  and  were  off  before  the  daybreak  brightenecJ 
into  sunri'v.  As  we  passed  the  last  mountain  headland  and  the 
mouth  of  the  valley  lay  wide  before  us,  I  noticed  a  dim  vapor  over 
the  place  where  the  Pueblo  San  Jose  should  stand.  The  reason 
of  this  was  explained  when  we  reached  the  entrance  of  the  town. 
We  were  met  by  a  hurricane  of  dust  which  for  several  minutes 
prevented  our  advancing  a  step  ;  the  adobe  houses  on  each  side 
were  completely  hidden,  and  we  could  only  breathe  by  covering 
our  faces  with  the  loose  folds  of  our  jackets.  Some  wind  intended 
for  San  Francisco  had  got  astray  among  the  mountains,  and  com- 
ing on  San  Jose  unawares,  had  put  in  motion  all  the  dust  that  had 
been  quietly  accumulating  during  the  summer. 

The  two  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since  San  Jose  had  beec 
made  a  capital,  were  sufficient  to  have  created  a  wonderful  change 
What  with  tents  and  houses  of  wood  and  canvas,  in  hot  haste 
thrown  up,  the  town  seemed  to  have  doubled  in  size.  The  dusty 
streets  were  thronged  with  people  ;  goods,  for  lack  of  storage 
room,  stood  in  large  piles  beside  the  ioors  ;  the  sound  of  saw  and 
hammer,  and  the  rattling  of  laden  carts,  were  incessant.  The 
Legislative  Building — a  two-story  adobe  house  built  at  the  town's 
expense — was  nearly  finished.  Hotels  were  springing  up  in  all 
quarters  ;  French  restaurateurs  himg  out  their  signs  on  little  one- 
Btory  shanties  ;  the  shrewd  Celestials  had  already  planted  them- 
Belves  there,  and  summoned  men  to  meals  by  the  sound  of  their 
barbaric  gongs.  Our  old  stopping-place,  the  "  Miner's  Home," 
was  converted  into  a  "  City  H^tel,"  and  when  we  drew  up  before 


200  ELDORADO. 

the  door,  we  were  instantly  surrounded  by  purveyors  from  rival 
establishments,  offering  to  purchase  the  two  wild  geese  which 
hung  at  the  wagon-tail.  The  roads  to  Monterey,  to  Stockton,  to 
San  Fiancisco,  and  to  the  Embarcadero,  were  stirring  with  con- 
tinual travel.  The  price  of  lots  had  nearly  doubled  in  consequence 
of  this  change,  so  that  the  town  lost  nothing  by  its  gift  of  the 
legislative  building  to  Government. 

The  ambulance,  carrying  Mr.  Semple,  set  out  for  Benicia  along 
the  eastern  shore  of  San  Francisco  Bay.  Those  of  us  who  were 
bound  for  San  Francisco  made  search  for  other  conveyances. 
Hearing  that  a  launch  was  about  starting,  I  walked  down  to  tho 
Embarcadero,  about  seven  miles  distant,  where  I  found  a  dozen 
vessels  anchored  in  an  estuary  which  ran  up  among  the  tule. 
One  of  them  was  to  leave  that  night  at  ten  o'clock  ;  the  fare  was 
$10,  and  the  time  dependent  on  the  wind,  but  usually  varying  from 
two  to  four  days.  I  gave  up  the  chance  at  once,  and  retracing 
my  steps  to  the  nearest  ford,  crossed  Coyote  River  and  struck 
across  the  meadows  towards  Whisman's  Ranche,  which  I  reached 
after  two  ho\irs'  walk.  Evening  came  on  while  T  was  journeying 
alone  in  the  midst  of  the  boundless  landscape — boundless,  but  for 
the  shadowy  mountain-piles  which  lay  along  the  horizon,  seeming, 
through  the  haze,  like  the  hills  of  another  planet  which  had 
touched  the  skirts  of  the  globe  on  its  journey  through  space. 
Long  lines  of  geese  and  brant  sailed  through  the  air,  and  the  white 
crane,  from  his  covert  on  the  edge  of  the  marsh,  uttered  at  inter- 
vals his  strong,  guttural  cry.  As  the  sxmset  gathered  to  a  blaze, 
the  mountains  across  the  bay  were  suffused  with  a  rosy  purple 
tint,  while  those  against  the  western  sky  stood  in  deep  violet 
shadow.  At  last,  the  sounds  of  animal  life  died  away  on  the  plainj 
and  tho  stars  were  gradually  kindled  in  the  cloudless  firmament 


friGHT-CAMP   VNDKR   THK   OAKS.  30j 

By  this  time  I  had  approached  a  fine  old  grove,  detached  from 
ihe  shore  of  timber.  The  sound  of  musket  shots  and  the  braying 
of  mules  told  that  a  party  had  encamped  there.  No  sooner  had 
r  reached  the  shadow  of  the  trees  than  my  name  was  shouted,  and  I 
tecognized  Major  Hill  and  my  other  friends  of  his  party.  I  threw 
down  my  sarape,  took  a  seat  among  them  and  employed  myself 
on  the  breast  of  a  goose.  We  sat  cross-legged  around  a  glowing 
fire,  passing  the  pans  and  cups  from  hand  to  hand,  and  using 
fingers  or  knives  according  to  the  toughness  of  the  meat.  The 
mules  were  picketed  among  the  oats  which  grew  knee-deep  under 
the  trees,  and  a  few  paces  off,  around  a  still  larger  fire,  the  sailora 
and  teamsters  brewed  their  bucket  of  tea  and  broiled  their  huge 
Riices  of  beef.  Our  meal  over,  we  lighted  our  puros  and  stretched 
out  at  full  length  on  the  grass,  enjoying  to  the  full  the  quiet  of  the 
place  and  the  soothing  influence  of  the  weed.  And  then  cam? 
rest — rest  delicious  anywhere,  but  doubly  so  under  the  broad  armi 
of  the  evergreen  oak,  with  the  full  clear  flood  of  moonlight  broken 
into  a  thousand  minute  streams  on  the  turf.  It  was  a  long  time 
Defore  I  could  compose  myself  to  sleep.  The  solemn  repose  of 
the  grove — the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees — the  fer,  misty,  silvery 
glimpses  of  plain  through  the  openings — wi'ought  powerfully  on 
my  imagination  and  kept  every  faculty  keenly  alive.  Even  in 
sleep  the  impression  remained,  and  when  I  awoke  in  the  night,  it 
was  with  a  happy  thrill  at  opening  my  eyes  on  the  same  maze  of 
moonlight  and  foliage. 

The  next  day  I  accompanied  the  party  on  foot,  taking  an  oc- 
casional lift  with  the  sailors  in  the  wagon.  The  jolly  tars  were  nol 
at  home  on  dry  land,  and  seemed  impatient  to  ste  the  end  of  the 
|ourney.  The  driver  was  enjoined  to  keep  a  good  look-out  from 
the  fore-top  (the  saddle-mule.)  "Breakers  ahead!"  shouted 
9* 


902  ELDORADO. 

Jack,  when  we  came  to  an  arroyo  ;  "  hard  up  !"  was  the  answer 
"  Take  a  reef  in  the  aft  wheel !"  was  the  order  of  the  driver 
The  lock  was  clapped  on,  and  we  rode  in  triumph  into  a  smoothei 
sea.  We  nooned  at  Sanchez'  Ranche,  reached  the  Mission  Dolores 
at  dusk,  and  started  over  the  sand-hills  in  the  moonlight.  The 
jaded  team  stalled  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  hill  but  was  afterwards 
got  oflF  by  unloading  the  wagon.  I  pushed  on  ahead,  hearing  the 
bustle  and  mingled  sounds  of  the  town,  long  before  I  reached  it 
I  struck  the  suburbs  half  a  mile  sooner  than  on  my  previous  re- 
turn, and  from  the  first  rise  in  the  sand  had  an  indistinct  view  of 
a  place  twice  as  large  as  I  had  left.  I  was  too  weary,  however  tc 
take  a  long  survey,  but  went  directly  to  the  Post  OflSce,  where  I 
found  Mr.  Moore  and  his  sons  as  cheerful,  active  and  enterprising 
as  ever,  and  was  again  installed  in  a  comfortable  nook  of  the 
orarret. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SAW    FRANCISCO    AGAIN POST-OFFICE    EXPERIENCKS. 

DuaiNa  my  absence  in  Monterey,  more  than  four  thousand  emi 
grants  by  sea  had  landed  in  San  Francisco.  The  pxcitemenl 
relative  to  gold-digging  had  been  kept  up  by  new  discoveries  on 
the  various  rivers  ;  the  rage  for  land  speculation  had  increased  , 
and  to  all  this  was  added  the  gathering  heat  of  political  conflict. 
San  Francisco  was  something  of  a  whirlpool  before,  but  now  it  had 
widened  its  sweeps  and  seemed  to  be  drawing  everything  into  ita 
vortex 

The  morning  after  I  arrived,  I  went  about  the  town  to  note  thi 
changes  and  improvements.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes 
The  northern  point,  where  the  Bay  pours  its  waters  into  tht 
Golden  Gate,  was  covered  with  houses  nearly  to  the  summit — 
many  of  them  large  three-story  warehouses.  The  central  and 
highest  hill  on  which  the  town  is  built,  was  shorn  of  its  chapparal 
and  studded  with  tents  and  dwellings  ;  while  to  the  eastward 
the  streets  had  passed  over  the  last  of  the  three  hills,  and  were 
beginning  to  encroach  on  the  Happy  Valley.  The  beautiful 
crescent  of  the  harbor,  stretchmg  from  the  Rincon  to  Fort  Mout- 
^mery,  a  distance  of  more  than  a  mile,  was  lined  with  boats, 
tents  and  warehouses,  and  near  the  latter  point,  several  pierj  jut- 
ted into  ths  water.     Montgomery  street,  fronting  the  Bay,  had 


904  ELDORADO. 

undergone  a  marvellous  change.  AH  the  open  spaces  were  bnill 
up,  the  canvas  houses  replaced  by  ample  three-story  buildings,  an 
Exchange  with  lofty  sky-light  fronted  the  water,  and  for  the  space 
of  half  a  mile  the  throng  of  men  of  all  classes,  characters  and  na- 
tions, with  carts  and  animals,  equaled  Wall  street  before  threa 
o'clock. 

In  other  parts  of  the  town  the  change  was  equally  great.  Tents 
&nd  canvas  houses  had  given  place  to  large  and  handsome  edifices, 
blanks  had  been  filled  up,  new  hotels  opened,  market  houses  in 
operation  and  all  the  characteristics  of  a  great  commercial  city 
feirly  established.  Portsmouth  Square  was  filled  with  lumber 
and  house  frames,  and  nearly  every  street  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
city  was  blocked  up  with  goods.  The  change  which  had  been 
wrought  in  all  parts  of  the  town  during  the  past  six  weeks  seemed 
little  short  of  magic.  At  first  I  had  difiiculty  in  believing  that 
what  I  looked  upon  was  real,  so  utterly  inadequate  seemed  the 
visible  means  for  the  accomplishment  of  such  wonderful  ends. 

On  my  way  to  call  upon  Col.  Fremont,  whom  I  found  located 
with  his  family  in  the  Happy  Valley,  I  saw  a  company  of  Chinese 
carpenters  putting  up  the  frame  of  a  Canton-made  house.  In 
Pacific  street  another  Celestial  restaurant  had  been  opened,  and 
every  vessel  from  the  Chinese  ports  brought  a  fresh  importation 
An  Olympic  circus,  on  a  very  handsome  scale,  had  been  estab- 
lished, and  a  company  of  Ethiopian  serenadere  nightly  amused 
the  public.  "  Delmonico's"  was  the  fashionable  eating-house, 
where  you  had  boiled  eggs  at  seventy-five  cents  each,  and  dinnei 
at  $1  50  to  $5,  according  to  your  appetite.  A  little  muslio 
ehed  rejoiced  in  the  title  of  "  Irving  House  "  A  number  of  fino 
billiard  rooms  and  bowling  alleys  had  been  opened,  and  all  othei 
devices  for  spending  money  brought  into  successful  operation 


jIore:  statistics  of  growth.  205 

The  gamblers  complained  no  longer  of  dull  prospecte  ;  there  wer% 
hundreds  of  monte,  roulette  and  faro  tables,  which  were  crowded 
nightly  until  a  late  hour,  and  where  the  most  inveterate  excesses 
of  gaming  might  be  witnessed.  The  rents  of  houses  had  increase  d 
rather  than  fallen.  I  might  give  hundreds  of  instances,  but  it 
would  be  only  a  repetition  of  the  stories  I  have  already  told 
Money  brought  fouiteen  per  cent,  monthly,  on  loan.  A  gentle- 
man of  Baltimore,  who  came  out  in  the  Panama,  sold  for  $15,000 
a  steam  engine  which  cost  him  $2,000.  Some  drawing  paper, 
which  cost  about  $10  in  New  York,  brought  $164.  I  found 
little  change  in  the  prices  of  provisions  and  merchandise,  though 
the  sum  paid  for  labor  had  diminished.  Town  lots  were  continu- 
ally on  the  rise  ;  fifty  vara  lots  in  the  Happy  Valley,  half  a  mile 
from  town,  brought  $3,500.  I  met  with  a  number  of  my  fellow 
passengers,  nearly  all  of  whom  had  done  well,  some  of  them  hav- 
ing already  realized  $20,000  and  $30,000. 

The  population  of  San  Francisco  at  that  time,  was  estimated  at 
fifteen  thousand ;  a  year  before  it  was  about  five  hundred.  The 
increase  since  that  time  had  been  made  in  the  fece  of  the  greatest 
disadvantages  under  which  a  city  ever  labored ;  an  uncultivated 
country,  an  ungenial  climate,  exorbitant  rates  of  labor,  want  of 
building  materials,  imperfect  civil  organization — ^lacking  every- 
thing, in  short,  but  gold  dust  and  enterprise.  The  same  expense, 
on  the  Atlantic  coast,  would  have  established  a  city  of  a  hundred 
thousand  inhabitants.  The  price  of  lumber  was  still  $300  to 
$400  per  thousand  feet.  In  addition  to  the  five  saw-mills  at 
Santa  Cruz,  all  the  mills  of  Oregon  were  kept  going,  lumber,  even 
there,  bringing  $100  per  thousand.  There  was  no  end  to  the 
springs  of  labor  and  traffic,  which  that  vast  emigration  to  Calt 


206  ELDORAliO 

fornia  had  set  in  motion,  not  only  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  but  throogli- 
out  all  Polynesia  and  Australia. 

The  activity  throughout  the  mining  region  during  the  fall  sea* 
•on,  gave  rise  to  a  thousand  reports  of  golden  discoveries,  the 
effect  of  which  was  instantly  seen  on  the  new-comers.  Their 
highest  anticipations  of  the  country  seemed  realized  at  once,  and 
their  only  embarrassment  was  the  choice  of  so  many  places  of 
promise.  The  stories  told  were  marvellous  even  to  Californians  i 
what  wonder,  then,  that  the  green  emigrants,  who  devoutly  swal- 
lowed them  whole,  should  be  disappointed  and  disgusted  with  the 
reality  ?  The  actual  yield  on  most  of  the  rivers  was,  neverthe- 
less, sufficiently  encouraging.  The  diggers  on  the  forks  of  the 
American,  Feather  and  Yuba  Rivers,  met  with  a  steady  return 
for  their  labors.  On  the  branches  of  the  San  Joaquin,  as  far  as 
the  Tuolumne,  the  big  lumps  were  still  found.  Capt.  Walker, 
who  had  a  company  on  the  Pitiuna — a  stream  that  flows  into  the 
Tulare  Lakes — was  in  Monterey,  buying  supplies  at  the  time  1 
left.  His  company  was  alone  in  that  desolate  region,  and  working 
to  advantage,  if  one  might  judge  from  the  secrecy  which  attended 
their  movements.  The  placers  on  Trinity  River  had  not  turned 
out  so  well  as  was  expected,  and  many  of  the  miners  were 
returning  disappointed  to  the  Sacramento.  Several  companies 
had  been  absent  among  the  higher  ridges  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  for 
n  month  or  more,  and  it  was  suspected  that  they  had  discovered 
diggings  somewhere  on  the  eastern  side. 

The  sickly  season  on  the  Sacramento  and  its  tributaries,  waa 
aearly  over,  but  numbers  of  pale,  emaciated  frames,  broken  down 
by  agues  and  diarrhoeas,  were  daily  arriving  in  the  launches  and 
steamers.  At  least  one-third  of  the  miners  suffered  more  or  less 
from  these  diseases,  and  numbers  of  men  who  had  landed  only  t 


AN    AGUE    CASE.  VJOI 

few  months  before,  in  the  ftilness  of  hale  and  lusty  manhood  wen 
walking  about  nearly  as  shninken  and  bloodless  as  the  ccrpse* 
they  would  soon  become.  One  of  the  most  pitiable  sights  I  evey 
beheld  was  one  of  these  men,  who  had  just  been  set  ashore  fioro  a 
launch.  He  was  sitting  alone  on  a  stone  beside  the  water,  with 
his  bare  feet  purple  with  cold,  on  the  cold,  wet  sand.  He  was 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  coarse  blanket,  which  shook  with 
the  violence  of  his  chill,  as  if  his  limbs  were  about  to  drop  in 
pieces.  He  seemed  unconscious  of  all  that  was  passing ;  his  long 
.matted  hair  hung  over  his  wasted  face ;  his  eyes  glared  steadily 
forward,  with  an  expression  of  suflFering  so  utterly  hopeless  and 
wild,  that  I  shuddered  at  seeing  it.  This  was  but  one  out  of  a 
number  of  cases,  equally  sad  and  distressing.  The  exposure  and 
privations  of  a  miner's  life  soon  sap  a  frame  that  has  not  pre-fi- 
ously  been  hardened  by  the  elements,  and  the  maladies  incident 
to  a  new  country  assail  with  double  force  the  constitutions  chus 
prepared  to  receive  them. 

I  found  the  climate  of  San  Francisco  vastly  improved  during 
my  absence.  The  temperature  was  more  genial  and  equabh^,  and 
the  daily  hurricanes  of  the  summer  had  almost  entirely  ceased. 
A.S  a  consequence  of  this,  the  streets  had  a  moi-e  active  and  pleas- 
ant aspect,  and  the  continual  whirl  of  business  was  enlivened  by 
something  like  cheerfulness.  Politics  had  taken  root  in  this  ap- 
propriate hot-bed  of  excitement,  and  was  flourishing  with  a 
rapidity  and  vigor  of  growth  which  showed  that,  though  an  exotio 
plant,  it  would  soon  be  native  in  the  soil.  Meetings  were  held 
nearly  every  night  at  Denison's  Exchange,  where  the  rival  parties 
—for  the  different  personal  interests  were  not  slow  in  arraying 
themselves  against  each  other — had  their  speeches,  their  huzzas 
and  their  drinks.     The  Congressional  candidates  bore  the   brunt 


i08  ELDORADO. 

itf  the  struggle,  since  three  or  four  of  them  were  residents ;  bul 
(he  Senatorship  gave  rise  to  the  most  deep-laid  and  complicated 
machinations.  The  principal  candidates,  T.  Butler  King,  Col. 
Fremont  and  Dr.  Gwin,  had  each  his  party  of  devoted  adherents, 
who  occupied  the  two  weeks  intervening  between  the  nomination 
and  election,  in  sounding  and  endeavoring  to  procure  the  votes  of 
the  candidates  for  the  State  Legislature,  on  whom  the  choice  of 
Senators  depended. 

Col.  Fremont  was  residing  at  the  time  in  the  Happy  VaUey, 
in  a  Chinese  house,  which  he  had  erected  on  one  of  his  lots  Mr. 
King  was  at  Sonoma,  where  he  had  gone  to  recruit,  after  an  illness 
i^hich  was  near  proving  fatal.  His  friends,  however,  called  a 
meeting  in  his  favor,  which  was  held  in  Portsmouth  Square — an 
injudicious  movement,  as  the  consequence  proved.  Dr.  Gwin  was 
making  an  eleotioneering  tour  through  the  mining  districts,  for  the 
purpose  of  securing  the  election  of  the  proper  Delegates  to  the 
State  Senate  and  Assembly.  It  was  curious  how  soon  the  Ameri- 
can passion  for  politics,  forgotten  during  the  first  stages  of  the 
State  organization,  revived  and  emulated  the  excitement  of  an 
election  in  the  older  States. 

A  day  or  two  after  my  arrival,  the  Steamer  Unicom  came  into 
♦^he  harbor,  being  the  third  which  had  arrived  without  bringing  a 
mail.  These  repeated  failures  were  too  much  for  even  a  patient 
people  to  bear  ;  an  indignation  meeting  in  Portsmouth  Square  w&a 
called,  but  a  shower,  heralding  the  rainy  season,  came  on  in  time 
to  prevent  it.  Finally,  on  the  last  day  of  October,  on  the  eve  of 
the  departure  of  another  steamer  down  the  coast,  the  Panama 
eame  in,  bringing  the  mails  for  July,  August  and  September  all 
at  once !  Thirty-seven  mail-bags  wore  hauled  up  to  the  little 
Post-Office  that  night,  and  the  eight  clerks  were  astounded  by  the 


STRUrTURE    OF    THE    POST    OFFICE.  iOi 

reoeipt  of  forty-five  thousand  letters,  besides  xmcotinted  bushels  oi 
newspapers.  I  was  at  the  time  domiciled  in  Mr.  Moore's  garret 
and  enjoying  the  hospitalities  of  his  plank-table ;  I  therefore  offered 
my  services  as  clerk-extraordinary,  and  was  at  once  Yested  with 
ftill  powers  and  initiated  into  all  the  mysteries  of  counting,  classi- 
fying and  distributing  letters. 

The  Post-Office  was  a  small  frame  building,  of  one  story,  and 
not  more  than  forty  feet  in  length.  The  entire  front,  which  waa 
graced  with  a  narrow  portico,  was  appropriated  to  the  windows  for 
delivery,  while  the  rear  was  divided  into  three  small  compartments 
— a  newspaper  room,  a  private  ofl&ce,  and  kitchen.  There  were 
two  windows  for  the  general  delivery,  one  for  French  and  Spanish 
letters,  and  a  narrow  entry  at  one  end  of  the  building,  on  which 
faced  the  private  boxes,  to  the  number  of  five  hundred,  leased  to 
merchants  and  others  at  the  rate  of  $1,50  per  month.  In  this 
small  space  all  the  operations  of  the  Office  were  carried  on.  The 
rent  of  the  building  was  $7,000  a  year,  and  the  salaries  of  the 
clerks  from  $100  to  $300  monthly,  which,  as  no  special  provision 
had  been  made  by  Government  to  meet  the  expense,  efiectually 
confined  Mr.  Moore  to  these  narrow  limits.  For  his  strict  and 
conscientious  adherence  to  the  law,  he  received  the  violent  censure 
of  a  party  of  the  San  Franciscans,  who  would  have  had  him  make 
fro3  use  of  the  Government  funds. 

The  Panama's  mail-bags  reached  the  Office  about  nine  o'clock. 
The  doors  were  instantly  closed,  the  windows  darkened,  and  every 
preparation  made  for  a  long  siege.  The  attack  from  without  com  • 
menced  about  the  same  time.  There  were  knocks  on  the  doors, 
laps  on  the  windows,  and  beseeching  calls  at  all  comers  of  the 
house.  The  interior  was  well  lighted  ;  the  bags  were  emptied  or 
Uie  floor,  and  ten  pairs  of  hands  engaged  in  the  assortment  and 


21P  CLDORAtO 

distribution  of  their  contents.  The  work  went  on  rapidly  and 
noiselessly  as  the  night  passed  away,  but  with  the  first  streak  oJ 
daylight  the  attack  commenced  again.  Every  avenue  of  entrancfl 
was  barricaded ;  the  crowd  was  told  through  the  keyhole  that  the 
OflSce  would  be  opened  that  day  to  no  one  :  but  it  all  availed  no- 
thing. Mr.  Mocre's  Irish  servant  could  not  go  for  a  bucket  of  water 
ffithout  being  surrounded  and  in  danger  of  being  held  captive. 
Men  dogged  his  heels  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  slip  in  behind 
him  before  he  could  lock  the  door. 

We  labored  steadily  all  day,  and  had  the  satisfoction  of  seeing 
the  huge  pile  of  letters  considerably  diminished.  Towards  even- 
ing the  impatience  of  the  crowd  increased  to  a  most  annoying 
pitch.  They  knocked  ;  they  tried  shouts  and  then  whispers  and 
then  shouts  again  ;  they  implored  and  threatened  by  turns  ;  and 
not  seldom  offered  large  bribes  for  the  delivery  of  their  lettv^rs. 
"  Curse  such  a  Post-Office  and  such  a  Post-Master !"  said  one  ; 
"  I'll  write  to  the  Department  by  the  next  steamer.  We^ll  see 
whether  things  go  on  in  this  way  much  longer."  Then  comes  a 
messenger  slyly  to  the  back-door  :  "  Mr. sends  his  compli- 
ments, and  says  you  would  oblige  him  very  much  by  letting  me 
have  hi?  letters  ;  he  won't  say  anything  about  it  to  anybody."  A 
clergyman,  or  perhaps  a  naval  officer,  follows,  relying  on  a  white 
cravat  or  gilt  buttons  for  the  favor  which  no  one  else  can  obtain. 
Mr.  Moore  politely  but  firmly  refuses  ;  and  so  we  work  on,  un- 
moved by  the  noises  of  the  besiegers.  The  excitement  and  anxiety 
of  the  public  can  scarcely  be  told  in  words.  Where  the  source 
that  governs  business,  satisfies  affection  and  supplies  intelligence 
had  been  shut  off  from  a  whole  community  for  three  months,  the 
rush  from  all  sides  ta  supply  the  void,  was  irresistible. 

In  the  afternoon,  a  partuvl  delivery  was  made  to  the  owners  o' 


SOUNDS    ON    THE    PORTICO.  911 

private  boxes.  It  was  eflfected  in  a  skillful  way,  though  with  some 
danger  to  the  clerk  who  undertook  the  opening  of  the  door.  On 
account  of  the  crush  and  destruction  of  windows  on  former  occa 
gions,  ho  ordered  them  to  form  into  line  and  enter  in  regular  order. 
They  at  first  refused,  but  on  his  counter-refusal  to  unlock  the  door 
complied  with  some  difficulty.  The  moment  the  key  was  turned, 
the  rush  into  the  little  entry  was  terrific  ;  the  glass  faces  of  the 
boxes  were  stove  in,  and  the  wooden  partition  seemed  about  to 
give  way.  In  the  space  of  an  hour  the  clerk  took  in  postage  to 
the  amount  of  $600  ;  the  principal  firms  frequently  paid  from  $50 
to  $100  for  their  correspondence. 

We  toiled  on  till  after  midnight  of  the  second  night,  when  the 
work  was  so  far  advanced  that  we  could  spare  an  hour  or  two  for 
rest,  and  still  complete  the  distribution  in  time  for  the  opening  of 
the  windows,  at  noon  the  next  day.     So  we  crept  up  to  our  blan 
kets  in  the  garret,  worn  out  by  forty-four  hours  of  steady  labor 
We  had  scarcely  begun  to  taste  the  needful  rest,  when  our  sleep 
deep  as  it  was,  was  broken  by  a  new  soimd.     Some  of  the  be 
siegers,  learning  that  the  windows  were  to  be  opened  at  noon 
came  on  the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  order  to  hav* 
the  first  chance  for  letters.     As  the  nights  were  fresh  and  cool, 
they  soon  felt  chilly,  and  began  a  stamping  march  along  the  por- 
tico, which  jarred  the  whole  building  and  kept  us  all  painful^ 
liwake.     This  game  was  practised  for  a  week  after  the  distiibution 
commenced,  and  was  a  greater  hardship  to  those  employed  in  tht 
Office  than  their  daily  labors.     One  mormng,  about  a  week  after 
this,  a  single  individual  came  about  midnight,  bringing  a  chair  with 
him,  and  some  refreshments.     He  planted  himself  directly  opposite 
the  door,  and  sat  there  quietly  all  night.     It  was  the  day  for  dis- 
patching the  Monterey  mail,  and  one  of  the  clerks  got  up  ahox/ 


919  BLDOBADO 

fimr  0  clock  to  haye  it  in  readiness  for  the  carrier.  On  openinf 
the  door  in  the  darkness,  he  was  confronted  by  this  man,  who 
■eated  solemnly  in  his  chair,  immediately  gave  his  name  in  a  loud 
vmoe :  "  John  Jenkins  !'* 

When,  finally,  the  windows  were  opened,  the  scenes  aronnd  the 
office  were  still  more  remarkable.  In  order  to  prevent  a  general 
riot  'among  the  applicants,  they  were  recommended  to  form  in 
ranks.  Thb  plan  once  established,  those  inside  could  work  with 
more  speed  and  safety.  The  lines  extended  in  front  all  the  way 
down  the  hiU  into  Portsmouth  Square,  and  on  the  south  side 
across  Sacramento  street  to  the  tents  among  the  chapparal ;  while 
that  from  the  newspaper  window  in  the  rear  stretched  for  some 
distance  up  the  hiU.  The  man  at  the  tail  of  the  longest  line 
might  count  on  spending  six  hours  in  it  before  he  reached  the 
window.  Those  who  were  near  the  goal  frequently  sold  out  their 
places  to  impatient  candidates,  for  ten,  and  even  twenty-five  dol- 
lars ;  indeed,  several  persons,  in  want  of  money,  practised  this 
game  daily,  as  a  means  of  living !  Venders  of  pies,  cakes  and 
newspapers  established  themselves  in  front  of  the  office,  to  supply 
the  crowd,  while  others  did  a  profitable  business  by  carrying  cans 
of  coffee  up  and  down  the  lines. 

The  labors  of  the  Post  Office  were  greatly  increased  by  the 
necessity  of  forwarding  thousands  of  letters  to  the  branch  offices 
or  to  agents  among  the  mountains,  according  to  the  orders  of  ihe 
miners.  This  part  of  the  business,  which  was  entirely  withou* 
remuneration,  furnished  constant  employment  for  three  or  fom 
elerks.  Several  persons  made  large  sums  by  acting  as  agents, 
supplying  the  miners  with  their  letters,  at  $1  each,  which  in- 
olnded  the  postage  from  the  Atlantic  side.     The  arrangementi 


INCREASE    OF    PAT    NEEDED.  918 

for  the  transportation  of  the  inland  mail  were  very  imperfect,  and 
th(se  private  establishments  were  generally  preferred. 

The  necessity  of  an  immediate  provision  for  the  support  of  aU 
branches  of  Government  service,  was,  (and  still  remains,  at  the 
time  I  write,)  most  imminent.  Unless  something  be  speedilj 
done,  the  administration  of  many  offices  in  California  must  be- 
come impossible.  The  plan  of  relief  is  simple  and  can  readily  be 
accomplished — in  the  Civil  Department,  by  a  direct  increase  of 
emolument,  in  the  Military  and  Naval,  by  an  advance  in  the  prica 
of  rations,  during  service  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  Our  legislators 
appear  hardly  to  understand  the  enormous  standard  of  prices,  and 
the  fact  that  many  years  must  elapse  before  it  cau  be  materially 
lessened.  Men  in  these  days  will  not  labor  for  pure  patriotism, 
rhen  the  ccuntry  is  so  well  able  to  pay  them. 


CHAPIER  XXI. 

SACRAMENTO    RIVER    AND    CITT. 

The  change  of  temperature  following  the  heavy  shower  whiob 
fell  the  day  after  my  arrival  at  San  Francisco,  seemed  to  announce 
the  near  approach  of  the  rainy  season.  I  made  all  haste,  there- 
fore, to  start  on  my  tour  through  the  northern  placers,  fearing 
lest  it  might  be  made  impossible  by  a  longer  delay.  The  schooner 
James  L.  Day  was  advertised  to  leave  for  Sacramento  City  about 
the  time  we  had  finished  distributing  the  mail,  and  as  no  prepara- 
tion is  required  for  a  journey  in  California,  I  took  my  sarape  and 
went  down  to  Clark's  Point,  which  is  to  San  Francisco  what 
Whitehall  is  to  New  York.  The  fJEU-e  was  $14,  which  included 
our  embarkation — a  matter  of  some  little  consequence, -when  $5 
was  frequently  paid  to  be  rowed  out  to  a  vessel.  There  were 
about  seventy  passengers  on  board,  the  greater  part  of  whom  had 
just  arrived  in  the  steamer  Panama.  The  schooner  was  a  trim, 
beautiful  craft,  that  had  weathered  the  gales  of  Cape  Horn.  A 
«trong  wind  was  blowing  from  the  south,  with  a  rain  coming  up 
as  we  hove  anchor  and  fired  a  parting  gun.  We  passed  the 
islands  of  Yerba  Buena  and  Alcatraz,  looked  out  through  the 
&olden  Gate  on  the  Pacific,  and  dashed  into  the  strait  connecting 
the  Bay  of  San  Francisco  with  Pablo  Bay,  before  a  ten-knot 


tH«  STRAITS  OF  CARQUINEZ.  216 

breeze.  This  strait,  six  miles  in  length  and  about  three  m 
breadth,  presents  a  constant  variety  of  scene,  from  the  irregu- 
larity of  its  mountain-shores.  In  the  middle  of  it  stands  an  island 
of  red  volcanic  rock,  near  which  are  two  smaller  ones,  white  with 
uano,  called  The  Brothers.  At  the  entrance  of  Pablo  Bay  are 
«wo  others.  The  Sisters,  similar  in  size  and  form. 

Pablo  Bay  is  nearly  circular,  and  about  twelve  miles  in  diame- 
ter The  creeks  of  Napa,  Petaluma  and  San  Rafael  empty  into 
it  on  the  northern  side,  opposite  Mare  Island,  so  called  from  a 
wild  mare  who  was  formerly  seen  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  elk, 
galloping  over  its  broad  meadows.  We  had  but  a  dim  glimpse  of 
the  shore  through  the  rain.  Our  schooner  bent  to  the  wind,  and 
cut  the  water  so  swiftly,  that  it  fairly  whistled  under  her  sharp 
prow.  The  spray  dashed  over  the  deck  and  the  large  sails  were 
motionless  in  their  distension,  as  we  ran  before  the  gale,  at  a  ipos* 
exhilarating  speed.  A  very  good  dinner  at  $1,  was  served  up  ii 
the  eight-by-ten  cabin  and  there  was  quite  a  run  upon  the  cook's 
galley,  for  pies,  at^l  apiece. 

We  speedily  made  the  entrance  to  the  Straits  of  Carquinez 
where  the  mountains  approach  to  within  three-quarters  3f  a  mile. 
Several  of  the  newly-arrived  emigrants  expressed  themselves  de- 
lighted with  the  barren  shores  and  scanty  patches  of  chapparal 
It  was  their  first  view  of  the  inland  scenery  of  California.  The 
rain  had  already  brought  out  a  timid  green  on  the  hills,  and  the 
soil  no  longer  looked  parched  and  dead.  "  Ah  !"  said  one  of  the 
oompany,  "  what  beautiful  mountains !  this  California  is  really  a 
splendid  aountry."  "  Very  well,"  thought  I,  "  but  if  you  dig 
less  gold  than  you  anticipate,  catch  the  ague  or  fail  in  speculation, 
what  will  you  say  then  >  Will  not  the  picture  you  draw  be  u 
dark  and  forbidding  as  it  is  now  delightful  ?** 


216  ILDORikDO. 

We  passed  a  small  sail-boat,  bound  for  Sacramento  and  filled 
with  emigrants  Half  of  them  were  employed  in  bailing  out  th« 
goud  thrown  over  the  gunwale  by  every  surge.  We  shot  by  them 
like  a  flash,  and  came  in  sight  of  Benicia,  once  thought  to  be  a 
rival  to  San  Francisco.  In  a  glen  on  the  opposite  shore  is  the 
little  town  of  Martinez.  Benicia  is  a  very  pretty  place  ;  the  situa- 
tion is  well  chosen,  the  land  gradually  sloping  back  from  the 
watei)  with  ample  space  for  the  spread  of  the  town.  The  anchor- 
age is  excellent,  vessels  of  the  largest  size  being  able  to  lie  so  near 
shore  as  to  land  goods  without  lightering.  The  back  country, 
including  the  Napa  and  Sonoma  valleys,  is  one  of  the  finest  agri- 
cultural districts  of  California.  Notwithstanding  these  advan 
tages,  Benicia  must  always  remain  inferior,  in  commercial  im- 
portance, both  to  San  Francisco  and  Sacramento  City.  While  in 
the  country,  I  was  much  amused  in  reading  the  letters  respecting 
it,  which  had  been  sent  home  and  published,  many  of  them  pre- 
dicting the  speedy  downfall  of  San  Francisco,  on  account  of  the 
superior  advantages  of  the  former  place.  On  the  strength  of 
these  letters  vessels  had  actually  cleared  for  Benicia,  with  large 
cargoes.  Now,  anchorage  is  one  thing,  and  a  good  market 
another ;  a  ship  may  lie  in  greater  safety  at  Albany,  but  the  sen- 
sible merchant  charters  his  vessel  for  New  York.  San  Francisco 
is  marked  by  Nature  and  Fate  (though  many  will  disagree  with 
me  in  the  first  half  of  the  assertion)  for  the  great  commercial  mart 
of  the  Pacific,  and  whatever  advantages  she  may  lack  will  soon  be 
amply  provided  for  by  her  wealth  and  enterprise. 

Benicia — ^very  properly,  as  I  think — ^has  been  made  the  Naval 
and  Military  Station  for  the  Bay.  Gen.  Smith  and  Commodore 
Jones  both  have  their  head  quarteis  there.  The  General's  house 
tnd  the  military  barracks  are  built  on  a  headland  at  the  entranc« 


KEW-TORi-OF-THE-PACIFIC.  817 

of  Suisun  Bay — a  breezy  and  healthy  situation.  Monte  Diablo, 
the  giant  of  the  Coast  Range,  rises  high  and  blue  on  the  other 
ride  of  the  strait,  and  away  beyond  the  waters  of  the  Bay,  beyond 
the  waste  marshes  of  tule  and  the  broad  grazing  plains,  and  above 
the  low  outlines  of  many  an  intermediate  chain,  loom  up  faint  and 
far  and  silvery,  the  snows  of  the  Sierra  Nevada. 

We  came-to  oflF  New-York-of-the-Pacific  in  four  hours  after 
leaving  San  Francisco — a  distance  of  fifty  miles.  The  former 
place,  with  its  aspiring  but  most  awkward  name,  is  located  on  a 
level  plain,  on  the  southern  shore  of  Suisun  Bay,  backed  by  a 
range  of  barren  mountains.  It  consists  of  three  houses,  one  of 
which  is  a  three-story  one,  and  several  vessels  at  anchor  near  the 
shore.  The  anchorage  is  good,  and  were  it  not  for  the  mosquitos, 
the  crew^s  might  live  pleasantly  enough,  in  their  seclusion.  There 
never  wiU  be  a  large  town  there,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
is  no  possible  cause  why  there  $hould  be  one.  Stockton  and 
Sacramento  City  supply  the  mines,  San  Francisco  takes  the  com 
meree,  Benicia  the  agricultural  produce,  with  a  fair  share  of  the 
inland  trade,  and  this  Gotham-of-the-West,  I  fear,  must  continue 
to  belie  its  title. 

We  anchored,  waiting  for  the  steamer  Sacramento,  which  wtu 
to  meet  the  schooner  and  receive  her  passengers.  She  came  along 
side  after  dark,  but  owing  to  the  violence  of  the  rain,  did  not  leave 
until  midnight.  She  was  a  small,  light  craft,  not  more  than  sixty 
feet  in  length,  and  had  been  shipped  to  San  Francisco  around 
Cape  Horn.  She  was  at  first  employed  to  run  between  Sacra- 
mento City  and  San  Francisco,  but  proved  insufficient  to  weather 
the  rough  seas  of  the  open  Bay.  The  arrival  of  the  steamer 
McKim,  which  is  a  good  sea-boat  and  therefore  adapted  to  the 
navigation  of  the  Bay,  where  the  waves  are  little  less  violent  than 

VOL.   I.  10 


21t8  ELDORADO. 

in  the  Pacific,  drove  her  from  the  route,  but  she  still  oontiuued 
to  run  on  the  Sacramento  River.  Many  small  steamers,  of 
similar  frail  construction,  were  sent  around  the  Horn,  the  specu- 
lators imagining  they  were  the  very  thing  for  inland  navigation 
The  engine  of  the  Sacramento  was  on  deck,  as  also  was  her  del 
of  a  cabin — a  filthy  place,  about  six  feet  by  eight.  A  few  berths, 
made  of  two  coarse  blankets  laid  on  a  plank,  were  to  be  had  ai 
$5  each  ;  but  I  preferred  taking  a  camp-stool,  throwing  my  sarape 
over  my  shoulders  and  sleeping  with  my  head  on  the  table,  rather 
than  pay  such  an  unchristian  price. 

As  the  day  dawned,  gloomy  and  wet,  I  went  on  deck.  We  wen 
uear  the  head  of  "  The  Slough,"  a  broad  navigable  cut-ofi^,  which 
Baves  twenty  miles  in  making  the  trip.  The  banks  are  lined  with 
thickets,  behind  which  extends  a  narrow  belt  of  timber,  princi- 
pally oak  and  sycamore.  Here  and  there,  in  cleared  spots,  were 
the  cabins  of  the  woodmen,  or  of  squatters,  who  intend  claiming 
preemption  rights.  The  wood,  which  brings  $12  or  $15  a  cord, 
rs  piled  on  the  bluff  banks,  and  the  steamers  back  up  to  it, 
whenever  they  are  obliged  to  "  wood  up."  At  the  junction  of 
the  slough  with  the  river  proper,  there  is  a  small  village  of  Indian 
huts,  built  of  dry  tule  reeds. 

The  Sacramento  is  a  beautiful  stream.  Its  width  varies  from 
two  to  three  hundred  yards,  and  its  banks  fringed  with  rich 
foliage,  present,  by  their  continuous  windings,  a  fine  succession  of 
views.  In  appearance,  it  reminded  me  somewhat  of  the  Delaware. 
Th*^  foliage,  washed  by  the  rain,  glistened  green  and  freshly  in  the 
morning ;  and  as  we  advanced  the  distant  mountains  on  either 
hand  were  occasionally  visible  through  gaps  in  the  timber.  Be 
fore  reaching  the  town  of  Sutter,  we  passed  a  ranche,  the  produce 
of  which,  in  vegetables  alone,  was  said  to  have  returned  the  owaw 


IriKW  or  SACRAMENTO  CltV  $1( 

-a  German,  by  the  name  of  Schwartz— $25,000  during  the  wear 
Bon.  Sutter  is  a  town  of  some  thirty  houses,  scattered  along  th* 
bank  for  half  a  mile.  Three  miles  above  this  we  came  in  sight 
of  Sacramento  City.  The  forest  of  masts  along  the  embarcaderr 
more  than  rivalled  the  splendid  growth  of  the  soil.  Boughs  and 
spars  were  mingled  together  in  striking  contrast ;  the  cables  were 
festened  to  the  trunks  and  sinewy  roots  of  the  trees ;  sign-boardi 
and  figure-heads  were  set  up  on  shore,  facing  the  levee,  and  galleys 
«nd  deck-cabins  were  turned  out  "  to  grass,"  leased  as  shops,  or 
occupied  as  dwellings.  The  aspect  of  the  place,  on  landing,  was 
decidedly  more  novel  and  picturesque  than  that  of  any  other  town 
m  the  country. 

The  plan  of  Sacramento  City  is  very  simple.  Situated  on  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  Sacramento,  at  its  junction  with  the  Rio 
A.mericano,  the  town  plot  embraces  a  square  of  about  one  and 
»-half  miles  to  a  side.  It  is  laid  out  to  regular  right-angles,  in 
Philadelphia  style,  those  running  east  and  west  named  after  the 
alphabet,  and  those  north  and  south  after  the  arithmetic.  The 
limits  of  the  town  extended  to  nearly  one  square  mile,  and  the 
number  of  inhabitants,  in  tents  and  houses,  fell  little  short  of  ten 
thousand.  The  previous  April  there  were  just  four  houses  in  the 
place  !     Can  the  world  match  a  growth  like  this  ? 

The  original  forest-trees,  standing  in  all  parts  of  the  town,  give 
it  a  very  picturesque  appearance.  Many  of  the  streets  are  lined 
with  oaks  and  sycamores,  six  feet  in  diameter,  and  spreading 
»mple  boughs  on  every  side.  The  emigrants  have  mined  the 
finest  of  them  by  building  camp-fires  at  their  bases,  which,  in  some 
instances,  have  burned  completely  through,  leaving  a  charred  and 
blackened  arch  for  the  superb  tree  to  rest  upon.  The  storm 
which  occurred  a  few  days  previous  tc  my  visit,  snapped  asunder 


2d0  SLbOtlAbO. 

several  trunks  which  had  been  thus  weakened,  one  of  thorn  crush- 
ing to  the  earth  a  canvas  house  in  which  a  man  lay  asleep.  A 
heavy  bough  struck  the  ground  on  each  side  of  him,  saving  hii 
life.  The  destruction  of  these  trees  is  the  more  to  be  regretted, 
as  the  intense  heat  of  the  Summer  days,  when  the  mercury  staudii 
%t  120°,  renders  their  shade  a  thing  of  absolute  necessity. 

The  value  of  real  estjite  in  Sacramento  City  is  only  exceeded  bj 
that  of  San  Francisco.  Lots  twenty  by  seventy-five  feet,  in  the 
Dest  locations,  brought  from  $3,000  to  $3,500.  Rents  were  on 
a  scale  equally  enormous.  The  City  Hotel,  which  was  formerly  a 
Baw-mill,  erected  by  Capt.  Sutter,  paid  $30,000  per  annum.  A 
new  hotel,  going  up  on  the  levee,  had  been  already  rented  at 
$35,000.  Two  drinking  and  gaming-rooras,  on  a  business  street, 
paid  each  $1,000,  monthly,  invariably  in  advance.  Many  of  the 
stores  transacted  business  averaging  from  $1,000  to  $3,000  daily 
Board  was  $20  per  week  at  the  restaurants  and  $5  per  day  at  the 
City  Hotel.  But  what  is  the  use  of  repeating  figures  ?  Thes< 
dead  statistics  convey  no  idea  of  the  marvellous  state  of  things  ii 
the  place.  It  was  difficult  enough  for  those  who  saw  to  believe, 
and  I  can  only  hope  to  reproduce  the  very  faintest  impression  oi 
the  pictures  1  there  beheld.  It  was  frequently  wondered,  on  this 
side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  why  the  gold  dust  was  not  sent  out 
of  the  country  in  larger  quantities,  when  at  least  forjy  thousand 
men  were  turning  up  the  placers.  The  fact  is,  it  was  required  as 
ourrency,  and  the  amount  in  circulation  might  be  counted  by  mil- 
lions. Why,  the  building  up  of  a  single  street  in  Sacramento 
City  (J  street)  cost  half  a  million,  at  least !  The  value  of  all 
the  houses  in  the  city,  frail  and  perishing  as  many  of  them  were, 
Boold  not  have  been  less  than  $2,000,000. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  there  is  another  side  to  tho  picture 


ITS   LIFE   AND   BUSINESS.  QQ] 

1  hree-fourths  ot  i'.-.c  people  who  settle  in  Sacramento  Citj  are 
visited  by  agues  diarrhoeas  and  other  reducing  complaints.  In 
Summer  the  plaje  is  a  furnace,  in  Winter  little  better  than  a 
Bwarap  ;  and  the  influx  of  emigrants  and  discouraged  miners  gene- 
rally exceeds  the  demand  for  labor.  A  healthy,  sensible,  wide- 
awake man,  however,  cannot  fail  to  prosper.  In  a  country  whew 
Labor  rules  everything,  no  sound  man  has  a  right  to  complain 
When  carpenters  make  a  strike  because  they  only  get  twelve  dol 
lars  a  day,  one  may  be  sure  there  is  room  enough  for  industry  and 
enterprise  of  all  kinds. 

Tlie  city  was  peopled  principally  by  New-Yorkers,  Jerseymen 
and  people  from  the  Western  States.  In  activity  and  public 
spirit,  it  was  nothing  behind  San  Francisco  ;  its  growth,  indeed, 
m  view  of  the  difference  of  location,  was  more  remarkable.  The 
inhabitants  had  elected  a  Town  Council,  adopted  a  City  Chartei 
apd  were  making  exertions  to  have  the  place  declared  a  port  of 
entry  The  political  waters  were  being  stirred  a  little,  in  antici 
pation  of  the  approaching  el(3Ction.  Mr.  Gilbert,  of  the  Alta 
California,  and  Col.  Steuart,  candidate  for  Governor,  were  in  th« 
city.  A  political  meeting,  which  had  been  held  a  few  nights  before._ 
m  front  of  the  City  Hotel,  pas<?cd  off  as  uproariously  and  with  as 
eealous  a  sentiment  of  patriotism  as  such  meetings  are  wont  to 
exhibit  at  home.  Among  the  residents  whom  I  met  during  my 
visit,  was  Gen.  Green,  of  Texas,  known  as  commander  of  the  Mier 
Expedition. 

The  city  already  boasted  a  weekly  paper,  the  Placer  Tmt%, 
▼hich  was  edited  and  published  by  Mr.  Giles,  formerly  of  the 
Tribune  Office.  His  printers  were  all  old  friends  of  mine — one  of 
them,  in  fact,  a  former  fcllow-apprenticc — and  from  the  fraternal 
feeling  that  all  possess  who  have  nvcr  belongrd  to  the  craft,  the 


ELDORADO 


place  became  at  once  familiar  and  home-like  The  little  paper 
firhich  had  a  page  of  about  twelve  by  eighteen  inches,  had  a  circa* 
lation  of  five  hundred  copies,  at  $12  a  year  ;  the  amount  received 
weekly  for  jobs  and  advertising,  varied  from  $1,000  to  $2,000. 
rickets  were  printed  for  the  different  political  candidates,  at  the 
rate  of  $20  for  every  thousand.  The  compositors  were  paid  $15 
daily.  Another  compositor  from  the  Tribune  Office  had  estab- 
lished a  restaurant,  and  was  doing  a  fine  business.  His  dining 
saloon  was  an  open  tent,  unfloored  ;  the  tables  were  plank,  with 
••ough  benches  on  each  side  ;  the  waiters  rude  Western  boys  who 
iad  come  over  the  Rocky  Mountains — ^but  the  meals  he  furnished 
could  not  have  been  surpassed  in  any  part  of  the  world  for  sub- 
stantial richness  of  quality.  There  was  every  day  abundance  of 
ilk  steaks,  unsurpassed  for  sweet  and  delicate  flavor  ;  venison, 
tphich  had  been  fattened  on  the  mountain  acorns  ;  mutton,  such  as 
nothing  but  the  wild  pastures  of  California  could  produce  ;  salmon 
and  salmon-trout  of  astonishing  size,  from  the  Sacramento  River, 
and  now  and  then  the  solid  flesh  of  the  grizzly  bear.  The  salmon- 
trout  exceeded  in  fatness  any  fresh-water  fish  I  ever  saw ;  they 
were  between  two  and  three  feet  in  length,  with  a  layer  of  pure 
fat,  quarter  of  an  inch  in  thickness,  over  the  ribs.  When  made 
into  chowder  or  stewed  in  claret,  they  would  have  thrown  into  eo- 
stacies  the  most  inveterate  Parisian  gourmand.  The  full-moon 
face  of  the  proprietor  of  the  restaurant  was  accounted  for,  when  om 
had  tasted  his  fare  ;  after  living  there  a  few  days,  I  could  feel  my 
own  dimensions  sensibly  enlarged. 

The  road  to  Sutter's  Fort,  the  main  streets  and  the  levee  front- 
ing on  the  Embarcadero,  were  constantly  thronged  with  the  teams 
of  emigrants,  coming  in  from  the  mountains.  Such  worn,  weather- 
beaten  inlividuals  I  never  before  imagined.     Their  tents  wew 


CATTLE  OF  EXPERIENCE.  223 

pitched  by  hundreds  in  the  thickets  around  the  town,  where  thej 
rested  a  few  days  before  starting  to  winter  in  the  mines  and  eke- 
where  At  times  the  levee  was  filled  throughout  its  whole  length 
by  their  teams,  three  or  four  yoke  of  oxen  to  every  wagon.  The 
beasts  had  an  expression  of  patient  experience  which  plainly  showed 
that  no  roads  yet  to  be  traveled  would  astonish  them  in  the  least. 
After  tugging  the  wagons  for  six  months  over  the  salt  deserts  of 
the  Great  Basin,  climbing  passes  and  cafions  of  terrible  asperity  in 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  learning  to  digest  oak  bark  on  the  arid 
plains  around  the  sink  of  Humboldt's  River,  it  seemed  as  if  no 
extremity  could  henceforth  intimidate  them.  Much  toil  and  suf- 
fering had  given  to  their  countenances  a  look  of  almost  human 
wrisdom.  If  their  souls  should  hereafter,  according  to  the  theory 
of  some  modern  philosophers,  reappear  in  human  frames,  what  a 
crowd  of  grave  and  reverend  sages  may  not  California  be  able  to 
produce  !  The  cows  had  been  yoked  in  with  the  oxen  and  made 
to  do  equal  duty.  The  women  who  had  come  by  the  overland 
route  appeared  to  have  stood  the  hardships  of  the  journey  remark- 
ably well,  and  were  not  half  so  loud  as  the  men  in  their  complaints 
The  amount  of  gambling  in  Sacramento  City  was  very  great, 
and  the  enticement  of  music  was  employed  even  to  a  greater  ex- 
tent than  in  San  Francisco.  AH  kinds  of  instruments  and  tunes 
made  night  discordant,  for  which  harrowing  service  the  performers 
were  paid  an  ounce  each.  Among  the  many  drinking  houses, 
there  was  one  called  "  The  Plains,"  which  was  much  frequented 
by  the  emigrants.  Some  western  artist,  who  came  across  the 
country,  adorned  its  waUs  with  scenic  illustrations  of  the  route, 
Buch  as  Independence  Rock,  The  Sweet-Water  Valley,  Fort  Lara- 
mie,  Wind  River  Moimtains,  etc.  There  was  one  of  a  pass  it  the 
Bierra  Nevada,  on  the  Oaison  River  route.     A  wagon  and  team 


S224  ELDORADO. 

were  represented  as  coming  down  the  side  of  a  hiD  bo  nearly  per 
pendicular  that  it  seemed  no  earthly  power  could  prevent  then: 
from  making  but  a  single  fall  from  the  summit  to  the  valley 
These  particular  oxen,  however,  were  happily  independent  of  gravi- 
tation, and  whisked  their  tails  in  the  face  of  the  zenith,  as  they 
marched  slowly  down. 

I  was  indebted  for  quarters  in  Sacramento  City,  to  Mr.  Da 
(Jraw,  who  was  installed  in  a  frame  house,  copper-roofed,  fronting 
the  levee.  I  slept  very  comfortably  on  a  pile  of  Chinese  quilts, 
behind  the  counter,  lulled  by  the  dashing  of  the  rain  against  the 
sides  of  the  house.  The  rainy  season  had  set  in,  to  all  appear- 
ances, though  it  was  full  a  month  before  the  usual  time.  The 
sky  was  bleak  and  gray,  and  the  wind  blew  steadily  from  the 
south,  an  unfailing  sign  to  the  old  residents.  The  saying  of  the 
Mexicans  seemed  to  be  verified,  that,  wherever  los  Yankis  go, 
they  take  rain  with  them. 

It  was  therefore  the  more  necessary  that  I  should  start  at  once 
for  the  mountains.  In  a  few  weeks  the  roads  would  be  impassa- 
ble, and  my  only  chance  of  seeing  the  northern  rivers  be  cut  oflF 
The  first  requisite  for  the  journey  was  a  good  horse,  to  procure 
which  I  first  attended  the  horse-market  which  was  daily  held  to- 
wards the  bottom  of  K  street.  This  was  one  of  the  principal  sights 
in  the  place,  and  as  picturesque  a  thing  as  could  be  seen  anywhere. 
The  trees  were  here  thicker  and  of  larger  growth  than  in 
other  parts  of  the  city ;  the  market-ground  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  was  shaded  by  an  immense  evergreen  oak,  and  surrounded 
by  tents  of  blue  and  white  canvas.  One  side  was  flanked  by  a 
livery-stable — an  open  frame  of  poles,  roofed  with  dry  tule,  in 
irhich  stood  a  few  shivering  mules  and  raw-boned  horses,  while  the 
stacks  of  hay  and  wheat  straw,  on  the  open  lots  in  the  vicinity 


SIGHTS  AT  THE  HORSE  MARKET  22fi 

jflFered  fc  id  to  the  buyers  of  animals,  at  the  rate  of  $3  daily  foi 
each  head. 

When  the  market  was  in  full  blast,  the  scene  it  presented  wae 
grotesque  enough.  There  were  no  regulations  other  than  the 
fancy  of  those  who  had  animals  to  sell ;  every  man  was  his  own 
auctioneer,  and  showed  off  the  points  of  his  horses  or  mules.  The 
groimd  was  usually  occupied  by  several  persons  at  once, — a  rough 
tawny-faced,  long-bearded  Missourian,  with  a  couple  of  pack 
mules  which  had  been  starved  in  the  Great  Basin ;  a  quondam 
New  York  dandy  with  a  horse  whose  back  he  had  ruined  in  hip 
luckless  "  prospecting"  among  the  mountains ;  a  hard-fisted  far« 
mer  with  the  wagon  and  ox-team  which  had  brought  his  family 
and  household  gods  across  the  continent ;  or,  perhaps,  a  jockj 
trader,  who  understood  all  the  arts  of  depreciation  and  recom- 
mendation, and  invariably  sold  an  animal  for  much  more  than  he 
gave.  The  bids  were  slow,  and  the  seller  would  sometimes  hang 
for  half  an  hour  without  an  advance  ;  in  fact,  where  three  or  four 
were  up  at  once,  it  required  close  attention  in  the  buyer  to  know 
which  way  the  competition  was  running. 

I  saw  a  lean  sorrel  mule  sold  for  $55  ;  several  others,  of  that 
glossy  black  color  and  clean  make  which  denote  spirit  and  endu- 
rance, were  held  at  $140,  the  owner  refusing  to  let  them  go  for 
less.  The  owner  of  a  bay  horse,  which  he  rode  up  and  down  the 
market'  at  a  brisk  pace,  could  get  no  bid  above  $45.  As  the  ani* 
mal  was  well  made  and  in  good  condition,  I  was  about  to  bid, 
when  I  noticed  a  peculiar  glare  of  the  eye  which  betrayed  suffer 
ing  of  some  kind  "  What  kind  of  a  back  has  he .?"  I  inquired 
"  It  is  a  very  little  scratched  on  the  top,"  was  the  answer ;  "  bui 
he  is  none  the  worse  for  that."  "  He'll  not  do  for  me,"  I  thought, 
but  1  watched  the  other  bidders  to  see  how  the  buyer  would  be 
10* 


SidB  BLDORADO. 

satisfied  with  his  purchase.  The  horse  was  finally  kiocked  off  ai 
$50 :  as  the  saddle  was  not  included  the  new  owner  removed  it 
disclosing  a  horriole  patch  of  raw  and  shrinking  flesh.  An  alter- 
cation instantly  arose,  which  was  not  settled  when  I  left  to  seek  t 
horse  elsewhere. 

The  owner  of  a  stack  of  hay  near  at  hand  desired  to  sell  me  a 
mule  out  of  a  numher  which  he  had  in  charge.  But  one  which 
he  recommended  as  a  fine  saddle-mule  would  not  go  at  all,  though 
he  wounded  her  mouth  with  the  cruel  bit  of  the  country  in  the 
effort  to  force  her  into  a  trot ;  another,  which  was  declared  to  be 
remarkably  gentle,  stumbled  and  fell  with  me,  and  a  third,  which 
seemed  to  be  really  a  good  traveler,  was  held  at  a  price  I  did  no* 
desire  to  pay.  At  last,  the  proprietor  of  a  sort  of  tavern  adjoin 
«ng  the  market,  offered  to  sell  me  a  gray  mare  for  $100.  Now,  aa 
^he  gray  mare  is  said  to  be  the  better  horse,  and  as,  on  trial,  1 
'ound  her  to  possess  a  steady  and  easy  gait,  though  a  little  lazy,  I 
letermined  to  take  her,  since,  among  so  many  worn-out  and  used- 
ip  animals,  it  seemed  a  matter  of  mere  luck  whether  I  would 
have  selected  a  good  one.  The  mare  was  American,  but  the 
owner  assured  me  she  had  been  long  enough  in  the  country,  to  travel 
unshod  and  keep  fat  on  dry  grass.  As  saddles,  blankets,  and  other 
articles  were  still  necessary,  my  outfit  was  rather  expensive.  I  pro- 
cured a  tolerable  saddle  and  bridle  for  $10  ;  a  lariat  and  saddle- 
blanket  for  $5  ;  a  pair  of  sharp  Mexican  spurs  for  $8,  and  blankets 
for  $12.  With  a  hunting-knife,  a  pair  of  pistols  in  my  pocket,  a 
eompasA,  thermometer,  note-book  and  pencil,  I  was  prepared  for 
»  tour  of  any  length  among  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

TRAVELING    ON    THE   PLAINS. 

I  M  Aii'EO  another  day  for  the  rain  to  subside,  but  the  wind  rtifl 
blew  up  the  river  and  the  sky  remained  hopelessly  murk  and 
lowering.  I  therefore  buttoned  up  my  corduroy  coat,  thrust  my 
head  through  the  centre  of  my  sarape,  and  set  out  in  the  teeth  of 
the  gale.  Leaving  the  muddy  streets,  swamped  tents  and  shiver- 
ing population  of  Sacramento  City,  a  ride  of  a  mile  and  a  half 
brout^t  me  to  Sutter's  Fort,  built  on  a  slight  rise  in  the  plain. 
It  is  a  large  quadrangular  structure,  with  thick  adobe  walls,  and 
square  bastions  at  each  corner.  Everything  about  it  showed  sigm 
of  dilapidation  and  decay.  The  corrals  of  earth  had  been  trampled 
down  ;  doors  and  gateways  were  broken  through  the  walls,  and  all 
kinds  of  building  materials  carried  away.  A  two  story  wooden 
building,  with  flag-staff  bearing  the  American  colors,  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  court-yard,  and  low  ranges  of  buildings  around  the 
sides  were  variously  occupied  as  hospitals,  stores,  drinking  and 
gaming  shops  and  dwellings.  The  hospital,  under  the  charge  of 
Drs  Deal  and  Martin,  was  said  to  be  the  best  regulated  in  the 
district.  It  was  at  the  time  filled  with  fever  patients,  who  re- 
ceived nursing  and  medical  attendance  for  $100  per  week. 

Behind  tke  fort,  at  the  distance  of  quarter  of  a  mile,  flow«  the 


^38  ELDORADO. 

Rio  Americano,  with  several  fine  grazing  ranches  on  its  banks 
The  view  on  all  sides  is  over  a  level  plain,  streaked  with  lines  of 
timber,  and  bounded  on  the  east  and  west,  in  clear  weather,  by  the 
distant  ranges  of  the  Coast  Mountains  and  the  Sierra  Nevada. 
Three  or  four  houses  have  sprung  up  on  the  low  groimd  in  front 
of  the  fort  during  the  summer.  Riding  up  to  a  large  unfinished 
frame  building  to  make  inquiries  about  the  road,  I  was  answered 
by  a  man  whom  I  afterwards  learned  was  the  notorious  Keysburg 
the  same  who  came  out  with  the  emigration  of  1846,  and  lived  aJ] 
winter  among  the  mountains  on  the  dead  bodies  of  his  companions 
He  was  of  a  stout,  large  frame,  with  an  exceedingly  coarse,  sen* 
susl  expression  of  countenance,  and  even  had  I  not  heard  his 
revolting  history,  I  should  have  marked  his  as  a  wholly  animal 
face.  It  remains  in  my  memory  now  like  that  of  an  ogre,  and  3 
only  remember  it  with  a  shudder.  One  of  those  who  went  out  to 
the  Camp  of  Death,  after  the  snows  were  melted,  described  to  me 
the  horrid  circumstances  under  which  they  found  him — seated 
like  a  ghoul,  in  the  midst  of  dead  bodies,  with  his  face  and  hands 
smeared  with  blood,  and  a  kettle  of  human  flesh  boiling  over  the 
fire.  He  had  become  a  creature  too  foul  and  devilish  for  this 
sarth,  and  the  forbearance  with  which  the  men  whose  children  he 
had  devoured  while  they  were  toiling  back  to  his  succor  through 
almost  fathomless  snows,  refrained  from  putting  him  to  death,  is 
to  be  wondered  at.  He  had  not  the  plea  of  necessity  in  the  use 
of  this  revolting  food ;  for  the  body  of  an  ox,  wnich  had  been 
iiiawed  out  of  the  snow,  was  found  untouched  near  his  cabm 
He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  fiendish  satisfaction,  of  the  meala 
he  had  made,  and  the  men  were  obliged  to  irag  him  awaj 
from  them  by  main  force,  not  without  the  terrible  oonvio* 
tion  that  some  of  the  victims  had  been  put  to  a  violent  desili 


NIGHT,  RAIN   AND   A    RANCHB.  829 

to  glut  his  appetite      There  is  no  creation  in  the  whole  lange  of 
fiction,  so  dark  and  awful  in  its  character,  as  this  man. 

After  passing  the  first  belt  of  timber,  I  was  alone  on  the  plains 
which  looked  strikingly  bleak  and  desolate  under  the  daik  and 
rainy  sky.  The  road  was  filled  with  pools  of  mud  and  water,  by 
which,  when  night  came  down  on  the  changeless  waste,  I  was 
enabled  to  find  my  way.  The  rain  set  in  again,  adding  greatly  to 
the  discomfort  of  such  travel.  My  gray  mare,  too,  lagged  more 
than  I  liked,  and  I  began  to  calculate  my  chances  of  remaining 
all  night  on  the  plain.  About  two  hours  after  dark,  however,  a 
faint  light  glimmered  in  the  distance,  and  I  finally  reached  the 
place  of  my  destination — Murphy's  Ranche  on  the  Cosumne 
River.  An  Indian  boy  tied  my  horse  to  a  haystack,  and  Mrs. 
Murphy  set  about  baking  some  biscuit  in  a  pan,  and  roasting  a 
piece  of  beef  for  me  on  a  wooden  spit.  A  company  of  gold-dig- 
gers, on  their  way  from  the  Yuba  to  winter  on  the  Mariposa,  had 
possession  of  one  end  of  the  house,  where  they  lay  rolled  in  their 
blankets,  their  forms  barely  discernible  through  the  smoke  sent 
out  by  the  rain -soaked  wood  of  which  their  fire  was  made.  I 
talked  an  hour  with  them  about  the  prospects  of  mining  on  the 
difierent  rivers,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep  on  the  clay  floor. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  was  as  thick,  heavy  and  gray  as  a 
Mackinaw  blanket,  with  a  precocious  drizzle,  betokening  a  stoim. 
Nevertheless,  I  saddled  and  started  for  Hick's  Ranche,  a  day's 
journey  distant,  in  the  edge  of  the  mountains.  I  forded  the 
Cosumne  River,  (almost  universally  pronounced  Mokosutn^,)  at 
this  place  a  clear,  swift  stream,  bordered  by  dense  thickets.  It 
was  already  up  to  my  saddle-skirts,  and  rapidly  rising.  Two  or 
three  tule  huts  stood  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  a  number  of  dirty, 
(tfupid  Indian  faces  stared  at  me  through  the  apertures.     Taking 


230  ELDORADO. 

a  dim  wagon-trail,  according  to  directions,  I  stnick  out  once  more 
on  the  open  plains.  The  travel  was  very  toilsome,  my  horse'f 
feet  sinking  deeply  into  the  wet,  soft  soU.  The  furthei  1  >veni 
the  worse  it  became  After  making  five  miles,  I  reached  bome 
Bcattering  oak  timber,  where  I  was  forced  to  take  shelter  from  the 
rain,  which  now  beat  down  drenchingly.  Cold  and  wet,  I  waited 
two  hom-s  in  that  dismal  solitude  for  the  flood  to  cease,  and  taking 
advantage  of  the  first  luU,  turned  about  and  rode  back  to  the 
ranchc.  AU  that  night  it  rained  hard,  and  the  second  morning 
opened  with  a  prospect  more  dreary  than  ever. 

My  companions  in  that  adobe  limbo  were  the  miners,  who  had 
been  spending  the  Summer  on  the  upper  bars  of  the  Yuba.  Ac- 
cording to  their  accounts,  the  average  yield  of  the  Yuba  diggings 
was  near  two  oimces  for  each  man.  Those  who  had  taken  out 
olauns  of  eight  paces  square  in  the  beginning  of  the  season,  fre- 
quently made  $10,000  and  upwards.  Owing  to  the  severity  of 
the  Winter  in  that  region,  the  greater  portion  o  the  miners  were 
moving  southward  imtil  the  Spring.  Several  companies  came  up 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  but  as  the  ranche  was  full,  they  were 
constrained  to  pitch  their  tents  along  the  banks  of  the  swollen 
Cosumne.  Mr.  Murphy,  I  found,  was  the  son  of  the  old  gentleman 
whose  hospitalities  I  had  shared  in  the  valley  of  San  Jose.  Hr 
had  been  living  three  years  on  the  river,  and  his  three  sturdy  young 
sons  could  ride  and  throw  the  lariat  equal  to  any  Californian. 
There  were  two  or  three  Indian  boys  belonging  to  the  house,  one 
of  whom,  a  solid,  shock-headed  urchin,  as  grave  as  if  he  was  born 
to  be  a  "  medicine-man,"  did  all  the  household  duties  with  great 
precision  and  steadiness.  He  was  called  "  Billy,"  and  thougb 
he  understood  English  as  well  as  his  own  language,  I  never  heard 
nim  speak.     My  only  relief,  during  the  wearisome  detention,  was 


THE   NEVADA    AT   SUN8KT.  23; 

in  watchiog  his  deliberate  motions,  and  wondering  what  thou^ts^ 
or  whether  any  thoughts  stirred  under  his  immoveable  face. 

The  afternoon  of  the  second  day  the  clouds  lifted,  and  we  b&m 
the  entire  line  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  white  and  cold  against  the 
background  of  the  receding  storm.  As  the  sun  broke  forth,  near 
its  setting,  peak  after  peak  became  visible,  fer  away  to  north 
and  south,  till  the' ridge  of  eternal  snow  was  unbroken  for  at  least 
*  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  The  peaks  around  the  head-waters  of  the 
American  Fork,  highest  of  all,  were  directly  in  front.  The  pure 
white  of  their  sides  became  gradually  imbued  with  a  rosy  flame, 
And  their  cones  and  pinnacles  burned  like  points  of  fire.  In  the 
last  glow  of  the  sun,  long  after  it  had  set  to  us,  the  splendor  of 
the  whole  range,  deepening  from  gold  to  rose,  from  rose  to  crim 
son,  and  fading  at  last  into  an  ashy  violet,  surpassed  even  the 
fiEunooB  "  Alp-glow,"  as  I  have  seen  it  from  the  plains  of  Pied- 
mont. 

An  old  hunter  living  on  the  ranche  came  galloping  up,  with  a 
fat,  black-tailed  doe  at  the  end  of  his  lariat.  He  had  first  broken 
the  hind  leg  of  the  poor  beast  with  a  ball,  and  then  caught  hei 
running.  The  pleading  expression  of  her  large  black  eyes  wag 
almost  human,  but  her  captor  coolly  drew  his  knife  across  her 
throat,  and  left  her  to  bleed  to  death.  She  lay  on  the  ground, 
uttering  a  piteous  bleat  as  her  panting  became  thick  and  difficult, 
but  not  until  the  last  agony  was  wholly  ovor,  did  the  dull  film  steal 
fccross  the  beauty  of  her  lustrous  eyes. 

On  the  thiid  morning  I  succeeded  in  leaving  the  ranche,  where 
I  had  been  very  hospitably  entertained  at  four  dollars  a  day  tot 
myself  and  horse.  The  Cosumne  was  very  much  swollen  by  the 
raiss,  but  my  gray  mare  swam  bravely,  and  took  me  across  with 
hut  a  slight  wetting.     I  passed  ray  previous  halting-place,  and  wa* 


232  ELDORADO. 

advancing  with  difficulty  through  the  mud  of  the  plains,  when,  on 
climbing  a  small  "  rise,"  I  suddenly  found  myself  confronted  h\ 
four  grizzly  bears — two  of  them  half-grown  cubs — who  had  post  ts« 
sion  of  a  grassy  bottom  on  the  other  side.  They  were  not  more 
than  two  hundred  yards  distant.  I  halted  and  looked  at  them, 
and  they  at  me,  and  I  must  say  they  seemed  the  most  unconcerned 
of  the  two  parties.  My  pistols  would  kill  nothing  bigger  than  a 
coyote,  and  they  could  easily  have  outrun  my  horse ;  so  I  went 
my  way,  keeping  an  eye  on  the  most  convenient  tree.  In  case  of 
an  attack,  the  choice  of  a  place  of  refuge  would  have  been  a  deli- 
cate matter,  since  the  bears  can  climb  up  a  large  tree  and  gnaw 
down  a  small  one.  It  required  some  skill,  therefore,  in  selecting 
i  trunk  of  proper  size.  At  Murphy's,  the  night  previous,  they 
told  me  there  had  been  plenty  of  "  bear-sign"  along  the  river,  and 
in  the  "  pockets"  of  solid  ground  among  the  tule.  As  the  rainy 
season  sets  in  they  always  come  down  from  the  mountains. 

After  traveling  eight  or  ten  miles  the  wagon  trails  began  to 
scatter,  and  with  my  imperfect  knowledge  of  prairie  hieroglyphics, 
[  was  soon  at  fault.  The  sky  was  by  this  time  clear  and  bright ; 
and  rather  than  puzzle  myself  with  wheel-tracks  leading  every- 
where, and  cattle-tracks  leading  nowhere,  I  guessed  at  the  location 
't>f  the  ranche  to  which  I  was  bound  and  took  a  bee-line  towards  it, 

Thti  knowledge  of  tracks  and  marks  is  a  very  important  part  of 
the  education  of  a  woodsman.  It  is  only  obtained  by  unlearning, 
or  forgetting  for  the  time,  all  one's  civilized  acquirements  and  re- 
calling the  original  instincts  of  the  animal.  An  observing  man, 
fresh  from  the  city,  might  with  some  study  determine  the  character 
of  a  track,  but  it  is  the  habit  of  observing  them  rather  than  the 
discriminating  faculty,  which  enables  the  genuine  hunter  to  peruae 
the  earth  like  a  volume,  and  confidently  pronounce  on  the  niunbei 


PRAIRIE    AND    WOOD    CRAFT.  233 

Xixd  character  of  all  the  animals  and  men  that  have  lately  passed 
ever  its  surface.  Where  an  inexperienced  eye  could  discern  no 
mark,  he  will  note  a  hundred  trails,  and  follow  any  particular  one 
through  the  maze,  with  a  faculty  of  sight  as  unerring  as  the  power 
of  scent  in  a  dog.  I  was  necessitated,  during  my  journey  in  the 
interior  of  California,  to  pay  some  attention  to  this  craft,  but  I 
never  got  beyond  the  rudiments. 

Another  necessary  faculty,  as  I  had  constant  occasion  to  noiioe. 
is  that  of  observing  and  remembering  the  form,  color  and  character 
of  animals.  This  may  seem  a  simple  thing  ;  but  let  any  one,  at 
the  close  of  a  ride  in  the  country,  endeavor  to  describe  all  the 
horses,  mules  and  oxen  he  has  seen,  and  he  will  find  himself  at  fault. 
A  Californian  will  remember  and  give  a  particular  description  of  a 
hundred  animals,  which  he  has  passed  in  a  day's  journey,  and  be 
able  to  recognize  and  identify  any  one  of  them.  Horses  and  mules 
are  to  him  what  men,  newspapers,  books  and  machinery  are  to  us : 
they  are  the  only  science  he  need  know  or  learn.  The  habit  of 
noticing  them  is  easily  acquired,  and  is  extremely  useful  in  a 
country  where  there  are  neither  pounds  nor  fences. 

The  heavy  canopy  of  clouds  was  lifted  from  the  plain  almost  as 
suddenly  as  the  cover  from  a  mast  turkey  at  a  hotel  dinner,  when 
the  head  waiter  has  given  the  wink.  The  snows  of  the  Nevada 
shone  white  along  the  clear  horizon  ;  I  could  see  for  many  a  league 
on  every  side,  but  I  was  alone  on  the  broad,  warm  landscape. 
Orer  wastes  of  loose,  gravelly  soil,  into  which  my  horse  sank  above 
the  fetlocks — across  barren  ridges,  alternating  with  marshy  hollows 
»nd  pools  of  water,  T  toUed  for  hours,  and  near  sunset  reached  the 
first  low,  timbered  hills  on  the  margin  of  the  plain.  I  dismounted 
and  led  my  weary  horse  for  a  mile  or  two,  but  as  it  grew  dark 
was  obliged  to  halt  in  a  little  glen — a  most  bear-ish  looking  place 


234  ELDORADO. 

filled  vrith  thick  chapparal.  A  fallen  tree  supplied  me  with  ftiel 
to  hand,  and  I  soon  had  a  glowing  fire,  heside  which  I  spread  mj 
blankets  and  lay  down.  Getting  up  at  midnight  to  threw  on  mora 
logs,  I  found  my  horse  gone,  and  searched  the  chapparal  for  ao 
hour,  wondering  how  I  should  fare,  trudging  along  on  foot,  with 
fehe  saddle  on  my  shoulders.  At  last  I  found  her  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  wood,  with  the  lariat  wound  around  a  tree.  After  this  I 
dept  no  more,  but  lay  gazing  on  the  flickering  camp-fire,  and  her 
gray  figure  as  she  moved  about  in  the  dusk.  Towards  dawn  the 
tinkle  of  a  distant  mule-bell  and  afterwards  the  crowing  of  a  cock 
gave  me  welcome  signs  of  near  habitation  ;  and,  saddling  with  the 
first  streak  of  light,  I  pushed  on,  still  in  the  same  direction,  through 
a  thick  patch  of  thorny  chapparal,  and  finally  reached  the  brow  ol 
a  wooded  ridge  just  as  the  sun  was  rising. 

Oh,  the  cool,  fresh  beauty  of  that  morning !  The  sky  was 
delioiously  pure  and  soft,  and  the  tips  of  the  pines  on  the  hills 
were  kindled  with  a  rosy  flame  from  the  new-risen  sun.  Below 
me  lay  a  beautiful  valley,  across  which  ran  a  line  of  timber,  be- 
traying, by  its  luxuriance,  the  water-course  it  shaded.  The 
reaches  of  meadow  between  were  green  and  sparkling  with  dew  ; 
here  and  there,  among  the  luxuriant  foliage,  peeped  the  white  top 
of  a  tent,  or  rose  the  pale-blue  threads  of  smoke  from  freshly- 
kindled  camp-fires.  Cattle  were  grazing  in  places,  and  the  tinkle 
of  the  bell  I  had  heard  sounded  a  blithe  welcome  from  one  of  the 
groups.  Beyond  the  tents,  in  the  skirts  of  a  splendid  clump  of 
trees  stood  the  very  ranche  to  which  I  was  bound. 

I  rode  up  and  asked  for  breakfast.  My  twenty-four  hours  fast 
was  broken  by  a  huge  slice  of  roast  venison,  and  coffee  sweettned 
with  black  Mexican  sugar,  which  smacks  not  only  of  the  juice  of 
the  "ane,  but  of  the  leaves,  joints,  roots,  and  even  the  nnctaom 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  236 

«>a  in  which  it  grows.  For  this  I  paid  a  dollar  and  a  half,  but  no 
money  could  procure  any  feed  for  my  famishing  horso.  Leaving 
the  ranche,  which  is  owned  by  a  settler  named  Hicks,  my  road  led 
along  the  left  bank  of  Sutter's  Creek  for  two  miles,  after  which  it 
struck  into  the  mountains.  Here  and  there,  in  the  gulches,  1 
noticed  signs  of  the  gold-hunters,  but  their  prospecting  did  not 
appear  to  have  been  successful.  The  timber  was  principally  pine 
and  oak,  and  of  the  smaller  growths,  the  red-barked  madiono  and 
a  species  of  esculus,  with  a  fruit  much  larger  than  oiu-  Western 
buckeye.  The  hills  are  steep,  broken  and  with  little  apparent 
system,  A  close  observation,  however,  shows  them  to  have  a 
gradual  increase  of  elevation,  to  a  certain  point,  beyond  which 
they  fall  again.  As  in  the  sea  the  motion  of  the  long  swells  id 
seen  through  all  the  small  waves  of  the  surface,  so  this  broken 
region  shows  a  succession  of  parallel  ridges,  regularly  increasing 
in  height  till  they  reach  the  Sierra  Nevada — the  "  tenth  wave," 
with  the  white  foam  on  its  crest. 

About  noon,  I  came  down  again  upon  Sutter's  Creek  in  a  little 
valley,  settled  by  miners.  A  number  of  tents  were  pitched  along 
the  stream,  and  some  log  houses  for  the  winter  were  in  process  of 
erection.  The  diggings  in  the  valley  were  quite  profitable  during 
die  dry  season,  especially  in  a  caflon  above.  At  the  time  I  passed, 
the  miners  were  making  from  half  an  ounce  to  an  ounce  per  day. 
r  procured  a  very  good  dinner  at  Humphrey's  tent,  and  attempted 
to  feed  my  famishing  gray  with  Indian  meal  at  half  a  dollar  the 
pound  ;  but,  starving  as  she  was,  she  refused  to  eat  it.  Her  pao 
had  by  this  time  dwindled  to  a  very  slow  walk,  and  I  could  not 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  use  the  spur.  Leaving  the  place  immedi- 
ately after  dinner,  I  crossed  a  broad  moxmtain,  and  descended  tc 
Jackson's  Creek,  where  a  still  greater  number  of  miners   were 


236  ELDORADO. 

eongrogated.  Not  the  Creek  only,  but  all  the  ravines  in  the 
moanfains  around,  furnished  ground  for  their  winter  laboi-s  A 
little  knoll  in  the  valley,  above  the  reach  of  floods,  was  tntirelj 
covered  with  their  white  tents.  The  hotel  tent  was  kept  by  an 
Oregonian  named  Cosgrove,  and  there  was  in  addition  a  French 
restaorant. 

From  Jackson's  Creek  I  took  a  footpath  to  the  Mokelumne. 
After  scaling  the  divide,  I  went  down  into  a  deep,  wild  ravine, 
where  the  path,  notched  along  its  almost  perpendicular  sides, 
threatened  to  give  way  beneath  my  horse's  feet.  Further  down, 
the  bottom  was  completely  turned  over  by  miners,  a  number  of 
whom  were  building  their  log  cabins.  The  rains  had  brought  at 
last  a  constant  supply  of  water,  and  pans  and  cradles  were  in  full 
operation  among  the  gravel ;  the  miners  were  nearly  all  French 
men,  and  appeared  to  be  doing  well.  The  ravine  finally  debouched 
upon  the  river  at  the  Middle  Bar.  I  found  the  current  deep  and 
swollen  by  the  rains,  which  had  broken  away  all  the  dams  made  for 
turning  it.  The  old  brush  town  was  nearly  deserted,  and  very  few 
persons  were  at  work  on  the  river  banks,  the  high  water  h&ving 
driven  all  into  the  gulches,  which  continued  to  yield  as  mneh  as 
over. 

I  forded  the  river  with  some  difficulty,  owing  to  the  deep  holes 
quarried  in  its  channel,  which  sometimes  plunged  my  horse  down 
to  the  neck.  On  turning  the  point  of  a  mountain  a  mile  below, 
[  came  again  in  sight  of  the  Lower  Bar,  and  recognized  the  fea« 
tures  of  a  scene  which  had  become  so  familiar  during  my  visit  in 
August.  The  town  was  greatly  changed.  As  I  rode  up  the  hill, 
I  found  the  summer  huts  of  the  Sonorians  deserted  and  the  in- 
habitants gone  ;  Baptiste's  airy  hotel,  with  its  monte  and  dinin/i 
tables,  which  had  done  us  service  as  beds,  was  not  to  be  foun4 


A    KNOT   OF    POLITICIANS  23^ 

I  feared  that  all  of  my  friends  were  gone,  and  I  had  made  tLe 
ourncy  in  vain.  The  place  was  fast  beginning  to  wear  a  look  of 
lesolation,  when  as  I  passed  one  of  the  tents,  I  was  hailed  by  a 
rough-looking  fellow  dressed  in  a  red  flannel  shirt  and  s'.riped 
lacket.  Who  should  it  be  but  Dr.  Gillette,  the  sharer  of  my  gro 
tesqne  ride  to  Stockton  in  the  summer.  After  the  first  salutations 
irere  over,  he  conducted  me  to  Mr.  James'  tent,  where  I  found 
my  old  comrade.  Col.  Lyons,  about  sitting  down  to  a  smoking 
dinner  of  beef,  venison  and  tortillas.  Dr.  Gwin,  one  of  the  candi 
dates  for  U.  S.  Senator,  had  just  arrived,  and  was  likewise  the 
^est  of  Mr.  James.  I  joined  him  in  doing  execution  at  the 
tabid,  with  the  more  satisfaction,  because  my  poor  mare  had  about 
t  quart  of  com — the  last  to  be  had  in  the  place — for  her  supper. 
After  dinner,  Mr.  Morse,  of  New  Orleans,  candidate  for  Con- 
fess, and  Mr.  Brooks,  of  New  York,  for  the  Assembly,  made 
their  appearance.  We  had  a  rare  knot  of  politicians.  Col 
Lyons  was  a  promment  candidate  for  the  State  Senate,  and  we 
3nly  lacked  the  genial  presence  of  Col.  Steuart,  and  the  jolly  one 
of  Capt.  McDougal  (who  were  not  far  ofiF,  somewhere  in  the  dig- 
gings,) to  have  had  all  the  oflices  represented,  from  the  Q-ovemoT 
downwards.  After  dinner,  we  let  down  the  curtains  of  the  little 
tent,  stretched  ourselves  out  on  the  blankets,  lighted  our  cigara 
and  went  plump  into  a  discussion  of  California  politics.  Each  of 
the  candidates  had  his  bundle  of  tickets,  his  copies  of  the  Consti- 
tution and  his  particular  plans  of  action.  As  it  happened  there 
were  no  two  candidates  for  the  same  office  present,  the  discussion 
was  carried  on  in  perfect  harmony  and  with  a  feeling  of  good-fel- 
lowship withal.  Whatever  the  politics  of  the  different  aspirants, 
they  were,  socially,  most  companionable  men.  We  will  not  dis- 
close the  mysteries  of  the  conclave,  but  simply  re^iark  that  eveij 


238  ELDORADO. 

one  slept  as  soundly  on  his  hard  bed  as  though  he  were  dreaming 
of  a  triumphant  election. 

The  flood  m  the  river,  I  found,  had  proved  most  disastrous  to 
tibe  operations  on  the  bar.  Mr.  James'  company,  which,  after 
immense  labor  and  expense,  had  turned  the  channel  for  three 
hundred  yards,  and  waa  just  beginning  to  realize  a  rich  profit  from 
♦ie  river-bed,  was  suddenly  stopped.  The  last  day's  washing 
amounted  to  $1,700,  and  the  riches't  portion  of  the  bed  was  yet 
t<i  be  washed.  The  entire  expense  of  the  undertaking,  which 
required  the  labor  of  forty  men  for  nearly  two  months,  was  more 
than  twenty  thousand  dollars,  not  more  than  half  of  which  had 
been  realized.  AU  further  work  was  suspended  until  the  next 
summer,  when  the  returns  would  probably  make  full  amends  for 
the  delay  and  disappointment.  The  rich  gulch  was  filled  with 
miners,  most  of  whom  were  doing  an  excellent  business.  The 
strata  of  white  quartz  crossing  the  mountains  about  half  way  un 
the  gulch,  had  been  tried,  and  found  to  contain  rich  veins  of  gold 
A  company  of  about  twelve  had  commenced  sinking  a  shaft  tc 
strike  it  at  right  angles.  In  fact,  the  metal  had  inareased,  rathei 
than  din  inished  in  quantity,  since  my  former  visit. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

JOURNET    TO    THE   VOLCANO. 

My  first  care  in  the  morning  was  to  procure  forage  for  my  mare. 
The  effects  of  famine  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  in  hei 
appearance.  She  stood  dejectedly  beside  the  pine  stump  to  which 
she  was  tethered,  now  and  then  gnawing  a  piece  of  the  bark  to 
satisfy  the  cravings  of  her  stomach.  Her  flanks  were  thin  and 
her  sides  hollow,  and  she  looked  so  wistfully  at  me  with  her  dull, 
sunken  eyes,  that  I  set  out  at  once  in  the  endeavor  to  procure 
something  better  than  pine-bark  for  her  breakfast.  The  only 
thing  I  could  find  in  all  the  village  was  bread,  five  small  rolls  of 
which  I  bought  at  half  a  dollar  apiece,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  her  greedily  devour  them.  This  feed,  however,  was  far 
too  expensive,  and  rather  than  see  her  starve  outright,  I  gave  her 
to  Gen.  Morse,  for  the  ride  back  to  Sacramento  City,  his  own 
horse  having  broken  loose  during  the  night.  The  grass,  which 
had  already  begun  to  sprout,  was  not  more  than  quarter  of  an 
inch  in  height,  and  afforded  no  sustenance  to  cattle.  I  therefore 
reluctantly  decided  to  shorten  my  journey,  and  perform  the 
r«»mainder  of  it  on  foot. 

The  same  night  of  my  arrival  on  the  river,  I  heard  many  Btoriea 
about  "The  Volcano"- -a  plac«  some  twenty  miles  further  i»*c 


940  ELDORADO. 

flie  heart  of  the  mountains,  where,  it  vraa  said,  a  very  rich  do 
prsit  of  gold  had  been  found,  near  the  mouth  of  an  extinct  crater. 
I  made  due  allowance  for  the  size  which  gold  lumps  attain,  the 
farther  they  roU,  but  a  curiosity  to  see  some  of  the  volcanic  ap- 
pearances which  are  said  to  become  frequent  as  you  approach  the 
anowy  ridge,  induced  me  to  start  in  the  morning  after  having  seen 
my  horse's  head  turned  again  towards  the  region  of  hay. 

Dr.  Gillette  kindly  offered  to  accompany  me  on  the  trip-— an 
offer  the  more  welcome,  on  account  of  the  additional  security  it 
gave  me  against  hostile  Indians.  The  entire  mountain  district, 
above  the  Upper  Bar  (about  four  miles  from  the  Lower  Bar) — 
and  particularly  at  the  Forks  of  the  Mokelumne — ^was  overrun 
with  Indiarw,  some  of  whom  were  of  the  tribe  of  the  old  chief. 
Polo,  and  others  of  a  tribe  lately  made  hostile  to  the  Americana 
by  an  affray  at  the  Volcano.  Polo,  it  was  rumored  had  been 
shot;  but  I  gave  no  credit  to  the  report.  He  was  mucL  too 
cautious  and  cunning,  to  be  entrapped.  To  the  miners  about 
that  region,  he  was  as  much  of  a  will-o'-the-wisp  as  Abdel- 
Kader  was  to  the  French.  More  than  once  he  visited  the  dig- 
gings in  disguise,  and  no  small  company,  prospecting  above  the 
Forks,  was  safe  from  having  a  brush  with  his  braves. 

We  took  care  to  provide  ourselves  with  a  good  double-barreled 
rifle  before  starting.  Our  route  lay  up  the  river  to  the  Middle 
Bar,  Climbing  the  mountain  behind  that  place,  we  took  a  line 
&;r  the  Butte,  a  lofty,  isolated  peak,  which  serves  as  a  landmark 
for  the  country  between  the  Cosumne  and  the  Mokelumne.  De- 
Mending  through  wild,  wooded  ravines,  we  struck  an  Indian  trail, 
trith  fresh  tracks  upon  it.  The  thick  chapparal,  here  and  there, 
nado  ns  think  of  ambuscades,  and  we  traveled  more  cautiously  and 
«ilently  than  was  actually  needful      Ic  the  deep  nooks  and  re- 


THE   FOREST   TRAIL.  941 

resses  of  the  mountains  we  noticed  ruined  huts  and  the  aslies  of 
deserted  camp-fires  The  gulches  in  all  directions  had  been  dug 
ap  by  gold-hunters  during  the  summer.  One,  in  particular,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Butte,  showed — as  we  ascended  it,  for  more  than  a 
mile — scarcely  a  foot  of  soil  untouched.  The  amount  of  gold  ob 
tained  from  it  must  have  been  very  great.  The  traces  of  these 
operations,  deep  in  the  wilderness,  accounted  for  the  fact  of  minert 
becoming  suddenly  rich,  after  disappearing  from  the  Bars  for  • 
few  days. 

We  climbed  to  the  level  of  the  mountain  region,  out  of  whid 
the  Butte  towered  a  thousand  feet  above  us.  Our  trail  led  east- 
ward from  its  foot,  towards  the  Sierra  Nevada,  whose  shining  sum 
mits  seemed  close  at  hand.  The  hills  were  dotted  with  forests  of 
pine  and  oak,  many  specimens  of  the  former  tree  rising  to  the 
height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  The  cones,  of  a  dark  red 
eolor,  were  fuUy  eighteen  inches  in  length.  The  madrono,  which 
rises  to  a  stately  tree  in  the  mountains  near  Monterey,  was  here  a 
rough  shrub,  looking,  with  its  blood-red  arms  and  lifeless  foliage, 
as  if  it  had  been  planted  over  a  murderer ^s  grave.  The  ground,  in 
the  sheltered  hollows,  was  covered  with  large  acorns,  very  little 
inferior  to  chesnuts  in  taste ;  the  deer  and  bear  become  very  fat 
at  this  season,  from  feeding  upon  them.  They  form  the  principal 
subsistence  of  the  Indian  tribes  during  the  winter.  In  one  of  the 
ravines  we  found  an  "  Indian  wind-mill,*'  as  the  miners  call  it — ft 
flat  rock,  with  half  a  dozen  circular  holes  on  its  surface,  beside 
each  of  which  lay  a  round  stone,  used  in  pxilverizing  the  acorns. 
We  passed  one  or  two  inhabited  camps  a  short  distance  from  th« 
trafl,  but  were  apparently  unobserved.  Further  on.  in  the  forest, 
we  came  suddenly  upon  two  yoimg  Indians,  who  were  going  on  a 

trail  leading  towards  the  Forks.     They  started  at  first  to  run,  but 

vot.  I.       11 


343  ELDORADO. 

stopped  when  we  hailed  them  ;  they  understood  nt  ither  Engliah 
nor  Spanish,  but  some  tobacco  which  the  doctor  gave  them  waf 
very  joyfully  received. 

The  stillness  and  beauty  of  the  shaded  glens  through  which  we 
traveled  were  very  impressive.  Threaded  by  clear  streams  which 
turned  the  unsightly  holes  left  by  the  miners  into  pools  of  crystal, 
mirroring  the  boughs  far  above,  their  fresh,  cool  aspect  ^as  very 
different  from  the  glowing  furnaces  they  form  in  summer.  The 
foliage  was  still  very  little  changed  ;  only  the  leaves  of  the  buck 
3ye  had  fallen,  and  its  polished  nuts  filled  the  paths.  The  ash  was 
turned  to  a  blazing  gold,  and  made  a  perpetual  sunset  in  the  woods 
But  the  oak  here  wore  an  evergreen  livery ;  the  grass  was  already 
shooting  up  over  all  the  soil,  and  the  Winter  at  hand  was  so  decked 
in  the  mixed  trappings  of  Summer  Autumn  and  Spring,  that  we 
hardly  recognized  him. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  accidentally  took  a  side  trail,  which 
led  up  a  narrow  ravine  and  finally  brought  us  to  an  open  space 
among  the  hills,  where  a  company  of  prospectors  were  engaged  in 
pitching  their  tent  for  the  winter.  They  were  seven  in  number, 
mostly  sailors,  and  under  the  command  of  a  Virginian  named 
Woodhouse.  Their  pack-mules  had  just  arrived  with  supplies 
from  their  former  camp,  and  a  half-naked  Indian  was  trying  to 
get  some  flour.  On  learning  the  scarcity  of  the  article  on  the 
river,  they  refused  to  sell  him  any.  He  importuned  them  some 
time,  but  in  vain  :  "  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  be  driven 
off  to-morrow,"  and  went  away.  We  were  very  hungry,  and  em- 
ployed the  cook  of  the  company  to  get  us  something  to  eat.  He 
built  a  fire,  fried  some  salt  pork,  and  made  us  a  dish  of  pancakes 
I  could  not  help  admiring  the  dexterity  with  which  he  tossed  the 
eake  in  the  air  and  caught  it  on  the  other  side  as  it  came  down 


CAMPING    IN    A    STORM  243 

iuto  the  pan.  We  ate  with  an  animal  voracity^  for  the  asnal 
California  appetite — equal  to  that  of  three  men  &t  homo — ^was 
Bharpened  by  our  long  walk. 

It  was  now  beginning  to  grow  dark,  and  a  rain  coming  on.  We 
were  seven  miles  from  the  Volcano,  and  would  have  preferred  re- 
maining for  the  night,  had  the  miners  given  any  encouragement 
to  our  hints  on  the  subject.  Instead  of  this,  it  seemed  to  us  that 
they  were  suspicious  of  our  being  spies  upon  their  prospecting,  bo 
we  left  them  and  again  plunged  into  the  forest.  Regaining  the 
proper  trail  we  went  at  a  rapid  rate  through  gloomy  ravines,  which 
;rere  canopied  by  thick  mist.  It  grew  darker,  and  the  rain  began 
to  fall.  We  pushed  on  in  silence,  hoping  to  reach  some  place  of 
dhelter,  but  the  trail  became  more  and  more  indistinct,  till  at  last 
i^e  kept  it  with  our  feet  rather  than  our  eyes.  I  think  we  must 
have  walked  in  it  a  mUe  after  we  ceased  entirely  to  see  it.  Onc<* 
.>r  twice  we  heard  yells  in  the  distance,  which  we  took  to  be  thos« 
uf  a  party  of  the  hostile  Indians.  The  air  grew  pitchy  dark,  and 
die  rain  fell  so  fast,  that  we  lost  the  trail  and  determined  to  stop 
for  the  night.  We  had  just  crossed  a  sort  of  divide,  and  our  posi- 
tion, as  near  as  we  could  tell  in  the  gloom,  was  at  the  entrance  of 
a  deep  ravine,  entirely  covered  with  forests,  and  therefore  a  toler- 
ably secure  covert.  I  had  two  or  three  matches  in  my  pocket, 
from  which  we  struck  a  flame,  at  the  foot  of  a  pine  tree.  We  fed 
it  daintily  at  first  with  the  dry  needles  and  filaments  of  bark,  till  it 
grew  strong  enough  and  hungry  enough  to  dry  its  own  fuel. 
Swinging  with  our  whole  weight  to  the  ends  of  the  boughs,  we 
mapped  off  sufficient  to  last  for  the  night,  and  then  lay  down  on 
the  dark  side  of  the  tree,  with  our  arms  between  us  to  keep  them 
dry.  The  cold,  incessant  rain,  poming  down  through  the  boughs 
won  drenched  us  quite,  and  we  crawled  around  to  the  other  side 


344  KumftAoo. 

Hm  ImSaaB,  fike  De«^  love  a  shining  mark  ;  and  the  bought  cA 
IB  UTOV  sent  oat  of  the  ^oom  aro«nd  ns,  made  oar  backs  feel  on* 
•■■Jirtable  as  we  stood  before  the  fire.  Lying  in  the  raia,  ham- 
•f«r,  vilboat  blukeiB,  was  eqnaify  wapleagaat ;  so  we  todc  altar 
•ate  half-JHMira  of  Boako^  and  dryii^. 

Sah  pork  and  exerdse  combined,  gare  ns  an  intolerable  thirst, 
to  aUay  which  we  made  tordies  of  cedar  bark  and  went  down  ta 
dw  bottom  of  tile  ravine  for  water.  There  was  none  to  be  found  : 
wad  ve  wwe  about  giving  op  the  s^fftsh  when  we  came  to  a  yonng 
pine,  iriiose  myriad  needles  were  bent  down  with  their  harden  oi 
tain-drops.  No  nectar  was  ertr  half  so  delicious.  We  eaoght 
the  twigs  in  oar  moaths  and  drained  tiiem  dry,  then  cat  down  the 
tree  and  carried  it  back  in  triumph  to  oar  fire,  where  we  planted 
h  and  let  the  nun  fill  op  its  aromatic  beakers.  The  night  seemed 
interminable.  The  sound  of  the  rain  was  like  stealthy  footstep 
on  die  leaves  ;  the  howhi^  of  wolves  uid  the  roar  of  water  falls  a 
a  dfatmee,  starded  as.  Ooeasionany,  the  tread  of  some  animal 
awioa£  die  trees — poeaiUy  a  deer,  attracted  by  the  flame^  -pat  aL 
mr  Kosea  on  the  alert.  Just  before  daybreak  the  storm  ceased, 
and  in  ten  minutes  afterwards  the  akj  was  without  a  cloud. 

The  morning  broke  brightly  and  cheeringly.  We  resumed  the 
padi,  whidi  led  into  a  grassy  meadow  about  a  mile  lung,  at  the 
farther  end  of  which  we  struck  a  wagon  trafl.  A  saucy  wolf  came 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  barked  at  us  most  imperti- 
nently, bat  we  did  not  think  him  worth  the  powder.  The  air  was 
fragrant  with  the  smell  of  cedar — a  species  of  the  tkuya — ^whieh 
here  grows  to  the  height  of  two  hundred  feet.  Its  boles  are  per- 
fectly straagfat  and  symmetrical,  and  may  be  spGt  with  the  aace 
nto  boards  and  shingles.  Many  of  the  trees  had  been  felled  foi 
diis  purpose,  and  lay  by  the  roadside.     From  the  top  of  a  little 


THE    VOLCAKIC    COMMUNITT.  245 

ndge  we  looked  down  into  tJie  vallej  of  the  Volcanvi,  and  eonld  see 
the  smoke  rising  from  the  tents.  The  encampment  is  in  a  deep 
baein  sorroanded  bj  yolcanic  hills,  several  of  which  contain  ex- 
tinct  craters  A  small  stream  flows  throngh  ihe  midst.  The 
tents  and  cabins  of  the  miners  are  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills, 
Mid  the  diggings  are  partly  m  the  basin  and  partly  in  golches  whieb 
ranch  off  from  its  northern  sdde.  The  location  is  very  beaotifal, 
and  more  healthy  than  the  large  rivers. 

Descending  into  the  valley,  we  stopped  at  a  tent  for  break&st, 
which  was  got  ready  by  the  mly  female  in  the  settlement — a  wo 
man  from  Pennsylvania,  whose  husband  died  on  the  jonmey  ont 
A  number  of  the  miners  were  from  the  same  place.  Maj.  Bart- 
lett  of  Louisiana,  with  his  company,  were  also  at  work  there  ;  and 
b  another  valley,  beyond  the  woode^.  ridge  to  the  north-east,  Capt 
Jones  of  Illinois  was  located,  with  a  company  of  about  sixty  men. 
The  whole  number  of  persons  at  this  dicing  was  nearfy  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  and  they  had  elected  an  Alcalde  and  adopted  lawi 
for  their  government.  The  supplies  on  hand  were  very  scanty, 
but  they  had  more  on  the  way,  which  the  first  favorable  weathei 
would  enable  them  to  receive. 

In  addition  to  my  motives  of  curiosity,  in  visiting  the  Volcano, 
I  was  empowered  with  a  political  mission  to  the  diggers.  The 
candidates  on  the  Mokelnmne  gave  me  letters  to  some  of  them^ 
and  packages  of  tickets  which  I  was  enjoined  to  commend  to  their 
use.  On  delivering  the  letters,  I  found  I  was  considered  as  having 
Buthority  to  order  an  election — a  power  which  was  vested  only  io 
Ae  Prefect  of  the  District  or  his  special  agents.  At  the  sugges- 
tion of  some  of  the  miners  I  went  with  them  to  the  Alcalde,  in 
•rdor  to  have  a  consultation.  I  disclaimed  all  authority  in  tht 
noatter,  but  explamed  to  them  th^^  mode  in  which  the  eleetiona 


246  ELDORADO. 

were  to  be  held  on  the  river,  and  recommended  them  to  adopt  ft 
dmilar  action.  Owing  to  the  short  time  which  elapsed  between 
the  Governor's  proclamation  and  the  day  of  election,  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  Prefect  of  each  district  to  notify  all  the  organized 
communities.  The  only  plan,  therefore,  was  to  meet  on  the  ap- 
pointed day,  publi%  elect  Judges  and  Inspectors,  and  hold  the 
election  in  all  other  respects  according  to  the  requirements  of  the 
Constitution.  This  was  agreed  to  by  the  law-givers  of  the  Volcano 
as  the  most  advisable  mode  of  action.  But  behold  how  easy  it 
'b,  in  a  primitive  community  like  this,  to  obtain  the  popular  favor ! 
There  was,  on  one  of  the  tickets  in  the  San  Joaquin  district,  a 
candidate  for  the  State  Senate,  whose  surname  was  the  same  as 
mine,  and  the  Volcanics,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  took  me  to  be 
the  same  individual.  "  We  vvill  vote  for  him,"  said  they,  "  be- 
cause he  came  here  to  see  us,  and  because  he  appears  to  under- 
«tand  the  law."  Accordingly,  the  whole  vote  of  the  place  was 
^ven  to  my  namesake,  but  intended  for  me.  Had  I  known  this 
fact  sooner,  I  might  have  been  tempted  to  run  for  Alcalde,  at  least. 
Major  Bartlett  went  with  us  to  examine  the  diggings.  The  al- 
luvial soil  of  the  basin  contains  little  gold,  but  has  been  dug  up 
very  extensively  by  the  miners,  in  search  of  the  clay  stratum ; 
beside  which  the  gold  is  found  in  coarse  grains,  mixed  with  sand 
and  gravel.  There  is,  however,  no  regularity  in  the  stratum  , 
everything  bears  marks  of  violent  change  and  disruption.  In 
holes  dug  side  by  side,  I  noticed  that  the  clay  would  be  reached 
eighteen  inches  below  the  surface  in  one,  and  perhaps  eight  feet 
In  the  other.  This  makes  the  digging  something  of  a  lottery, 
those  who  find  a  deposit  always  finding  a  rich  one,  and  those  who 
find  none  making  nothing  at  all.  In  the  gulches  the  yield  is  mora 
tertain.     A  Mexican  had  lately  taken  twenty-eight  ponnds  out  ol 


APPKARAIfns  ur  THfi    EXTINCT    CRATERS.  ^^^ 

%  single  "pocket;"  another  miner,  having  struck  a  rich  spot, 
dug  $8,000  in  a  few  days.  Many  made  three,  fou;  and  fire 
ounces  daily  for  several  days.  In  the  upper  valley  the  averag* 
was  about  an  ounce  a  day.  Prom  my  hasty  examination  of  the 
place,  I  should  not  think  the  gold  was  thrown  up  by  the  craters 
in  a  melted  state,  as  the  miners  imagine.  The  fact  of  its  being 
found  with  the  layer  of  clay  would  refute  this  idea.  From  the 
strata,  wat^r-courses,  and  other  indications,  it  is  nevertheless  evi- 
dent that  large  slides  from  the  hiils,  occasioned  by  earthquakes  or 
eruptions,  have  taken  place. 

I  climbed  the  hills  and  visited  two  of  the  craters,  neither  of 
which  appeared  to  be  the  main  opening  of  the  volcano.  On  the 
contrary,  I  should  rather  judge  them  to  be  vents  or  escape-holes 
for  the  confined  flame,  formed  in  the  sides  of  the  mountain.  The 
rocks,  by  upheaval,  are  thrown  into  irregular  cones,  and  show 
everywhere  the  marks  of  intense  heat.  Large  seams,  blackened 
by  the  subterranean  fire,  run  through  them,  and  in  the  highest 
parts  are  round,  smooth  holes,  a  foot  in  diameter,  to  some  of  which 
no  bottom  can  be  found.  These  are  evidently  the  last  flues 
through  which  the  air  and  flame  made  their  way,  as  the  surface 
hardened  over  the  cooling  volcano.  The  Indian  traditions  go  back 
to  the  time  when  these  craters  were  active,  but  their  chronology  is 
totally  indefinite,  and  I  am  not  geologist  enough  to  venture  an 
opinion.  Pines  at  least  a  century  old,  are  now  growing  on  the  rim 
»f  the  craters.  Further  up  the  mountain,  the  miners  informed 
me,  there  are  large  beds  of  lava,  surrounding  craters  of  still  larger 
dimensions. 

We  took  dinner  at  Major  Bartlett's  tent,  and  started  on  am 
return  accompanied  by  Dr.  Carpentier,  of  Saratoga,  N.  Y.  Be- 
fore leaving,  I  took  pains  to  learn  the  particulars  of  the  reoeni 


248  KLDORADO 

fight  with  tbe  Indians  at  the  Volcano.  The  latter,  it  seems  firs 
discovered  the  placer,  and  were  digging  when  the  whites  arrired. 
They  made  room  for  them  at  once,  and  proposed  that  they  should 
work  peaceably  together.  Things  went  on  amicably  for  several 
days,  when  one  of  the  miners  missed  his  pick.  He  accused  the 
Indians  of  stealing  it ;  the  chief  declared  that  if  it  was  in  theii 
camp  it  should  be  returned,  and  started  to  make  inquiries.  In- 
stead of  walking  he  ran  ;  upon  which  one  of  the  whites  raised  hia 
rifle  and  shot  him.  The  Indians  then  armed  at  once.  The 
miners  called  up  the  remaining  white  men  from  the  placer,  and 
told  them  that  they  had  been  attacked  and  one  of  their  number 
killed.  The  consequence  of  this  false  information  was  a  general 
assault  upon  the  Indians  who  were  at  once  driven  off,  and  had  not 
returned  up  to  the  time  of  my  visit.  The  same  day  a  man  named 
Aldrich,  from  Boston,  was  found  in  the  meadow  on  the  trail  bv 
which  we  came,  pierced  with  three  arrows.  The  neighborhood 
of  the  Volcano  was  considered  dangerous  ground,  and  no  one 
thought  of  venturing  into  the  mountains,  unless  well  armed.  It 
is  due  to  the  miners  to  say,  that  on  learning  the  true  state  of  the 
quarrel,  they  banished  the  scoundrels  whose  heartless  cruelty 
had  placed  the  whole  community  in  peril. 

We  retraced  our  steps,  saw  the  snows  of  the  Nevada  turned  by 
the  sunset  to  a  brighter  gold  than  any  hidden  in  its  veins,  and 
reached  the  camp  of  the  prospectors  in  a  starry  and  beautiful 
twilight.  As  we  approached  through  the  trees,  in  the  gathering 
gloom,  they  shouted  to  us  to  keep  off,  taking  us  for  Indians,  but 
allowed  us  to  approach,  when  we  answered  in  English.  We  were 
kindly  received,  and  again  procured  an  excellent  supper.  The 
men  were  better  than  we  imagined.  They  had  been  anxious  about 
our  safety  the  previous  night,  and  fired  their  rifles  as  signals  to 


THE  TOP  JF  POLC  8  PEAK.  249 

DB.  After  we  had  grown  tired  of  talking  around  the  bhizing  camp- 
fire  about  grizzly  bears,  Mexicans,  Grila  deserts  and  gulches  whose 
pockets  were  filled  with  gold,  they  gave  us  a  confer  in  their  tern 
and  shared  their  blankets  with  us.  I  took  their  kindness  as  a  re< 
buke  to  my  former  suspicions  of  their  selfishness,  and  slept  all 
the  better  for  the  happiness  of  being  undeceived. 

It  was  a  model  morning  that  dawned  upon  us.  The  splash  of 
a  fountain  in  the  sun,  the  gloss  of  a  white  dove's  wing,  the  wink- 
ing of  the  beaded  bubbles  on  Keats'  cool  draught  of  vintage,  could 
not  have  added  a  sparkle  to  its  brightness.  The  sky  was  as  blue 
and  keen  as  a  Damascus  blade,  and  the  air,  filled  with  a  resinous 
odor  of  pine,  cedar  and  wild  bay,  was  like  the  intoxication  of  new 
life  to  the  frame.  We  were  up  and  off  with  the  dawn,  and  walked 
several  mUes  before  breakfast.  On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  Butte 
Dr.  G.  and  myself  detennined  to  make  the  ascent.  Its  ramparts 
of  red  volcanic  rock,  bristling  with  chapparal,  towered  a  thousand 
feet  above  us,  seemingly  near  at  hand  in  the  clear  air.  We  be- 
lieved wo  should  be  the  first  to  scale  its  summit.  The  miners  do 
not  waste  time  in  climbing  peaks,  and  the  Indians  keep  aloof,  with 
superstitious  reverence,  from  the  dwelling-places  of  spirits. 

After  a  toilsome  ascent,  at  an  angle  of  45°,  we  reached  the 
Kummit.  Here,  where  we  supposed  no  human  foot  had  ever  been, 
we  found  on  the  crowning  stone — the  very  apex  of  the  pyramid — 
the  letters  "  D.  B."  rudely  cut  with  a  knife.  Shade  of  Daniel 
Boone !  who  else  but  thou  could  have  been  pioneer  in  this  fer 
corner  of  the  Farthest  West !  As  the  buried  soldier  is  awakened 
by  the  squadron  that  gaUops  to  battle  over  his  grave,  has  the 
tramp  of  innumerable  trains  through  the  long  wilderness  called 
thee  forth  to  march  in  advance,  and  leave  thy  pioneer  mark  <w 
avery  unexplored  region  between  sea  and  sea  ? 


250  ELDORADO. 

Nevertheless  we  gave  the  name  of  Polo's  Peak  to  the  Batte— 
in  honor  of  the  dauntless  old  chief  who  presided  over  the  countrj 
round  about.  Before  I  left  the  region,  the  name  was  generally 
adopted  by  the  miners,  and  I  hope  future  travelers  will  remember 
it  The  view  ^rom  the  top  is  remarkably  fine.  Situated  about 
half-way  between  the  plain  and  the  dividing  ridge  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  the  Peak  overlooks  the  whole  mountain  country.  The 
general  appearance  is  broken  and  irregular,  except  to  the  east, 
where  the  ranges  are  higher.  The  mountains  within  ten  miles  of 
as  had  snow  on  their  crests,  and  the  Nevada — immaculate  and 
lustrous  in  its  hue — was  not  more  than  thirty  miles  distant.  The 
courses  of  the  Calaveras,  Mokelumne  and  Cosumne,  with  the 
smaller  creeks  between  them,  could  be  distinctly  traced.  In  the 
nearer  region  at  our  feet,  we  could  see  the  miners  at  work  felling 
logs  and  building  their  winter  cabins,  and  hear  the  far  whoop  of 
Indians,  from  their  hidden  rancherias.  On  the  west,  the  horizon 
was  bounded  by  the  Coast  Range,  Monte  Diablo  in  the  centre  and 
Suisun  Bay  making  a  gap  in  the  chain.  Between  that  blue  wall 
and  the  rough  ^egion  at  our  feet  lay  the  great  plains  of  Sacra- 
mento and  San  Joaquin,  fifty  miles  in  breadth,  and  visible  for  at 
least  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  extent.  The  sky  was  per- 
fectly clear,  and  this  plain  alone,  of  all  the  landscape,  was  covered 
with  a  thick  white  fog,  the  upper  surface  of  which,  as  we  looked 
down  upon  it,  was  slowly  tossed  to  and  fro,  moving  and  shifting 
like  the  waves  of  an  agitated  sea. 

We  enjoyed  this  remarkable  prospect  for  an  hour,  and  then 
made  our  way  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  Peak,  following  bcai 
and  deer  trails  through  patches  of  thorny  chapparal  and  long 
slopes  of  sliding  stones.  We  tarried  for  Dr.  Carpentier  in  one  of 
^he  glens,  eating  the  acorns  which  lay  scattered  under  the  trees 


Election  scenes  and  mining  chah/lctbrs  251 

A.8  he  did  not  appear,  however,  we  climbed  the  river  hills  and 
came  down  on  the  Upper  Bar,  reaching  our  starting-point  in  time 
'or  a  dinner  to  which  we  did  full  justice- 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

election    scenes    and    mining    CHARACTERb. 

On  my  arrival  at  the  Lower  Bar,  I  found  Mr.  Raney,  of  Stock- 
<»n,  who  had  made  the  journey  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  the 
ruads  being  almost  impassable.  The  rainy  season  had  now  fairly 
set  in,  and  as  it  came  a  month  earlier  than  usual,  the  miners,  in 
most  cases,  were  without  their  winter  supplies.  Provisions  of  all 
kinds  had  greatly  advanced  in  price,  and  the  cost  of  freight  from 
Stockton  ran  up  at  once  to  75  cts.  per  lb.  Flour  was  sold  on 
the  river  at^l  per  lb.  and  other  articles  were  in  the  same  pro 
portion  Much  anxiety  was  felt  lest  the  rains  should  not  abate 
in  which  case  there  would  have  been  a  great  deal  of  suffering  on 
all  the  rivera. 

The  clouds  gradually  lowered  and  settled  down  on  the  topmost 
pines.  Towards  evening  a  chUl  rain  came  on,  and  the  many 
gullies  on  the  hill-sides  were  filled  with  brown  torrents  tba 
brawled  noisily  on  their  way  to  the  swollen  Mokelumne.  The  big 
drops  splashed  dismally  on  our  tent,  as  we  sat  within,  but  a 
double  cover  kept  us  completely  dry  and  the  ditch  dug  inside  the 
pins  turned  off  the  streams  that  poured  down  its  sides.  During 
the  nie;ht,  however,  the  wind  blew  violontly  down  the  ravines,  and 


26-2 


ELDORADO. 


the  skirts  of  our  blankets  nearest  the  side  of  the  tent  wert 
thoronghly  soaked  My  boots  stood  under  a  leaky  part  of  the 
canvas,  and  as  I  hastened  to  put  them  on  next  morning,  without 
examination,  I  thrust  my  foot  into  about  three  inches  of  water 

The  Election  Day  dawned  wet  and  cheerlessly.  From  the  folds 
of  our  canvas  door,  we  looked  out  on  the  soaked  and  trickling 
hills  and  the  sodden,  dripping  tents.  Few  people  were  stirring 
about  the  place,  and  they  wore  such  a  forlorn  look  that  all  idea  of 
getting  up  a  special  enthusiasm  was  at  once  abandoned.  There 
was  no  motion  made  in  the  matter  until  towards  noon,  as  the  most 
of  the  miners  lay  dozing  in  their  tents.  The  Alcalde  acted  as 
Judge,  which  was  the  first  step ;  next  there  were  two  Inspectors 
to  be  appointed.  I  was  requested  to  act  as  one,  but,  although  I 
had  been  long  enough  in  the  country  to  have  held  the  office,  I  de- 
clined to  accept  until  after  application  had  been  made  to  some  of 
the  inhabitants.  The  acquiescence  of  two  of  the  resident  traders 
relieved  me  of  the  responsibility.  The  election  was  held  in  the 
Argest  tent  in  the  place,  the  Inspectors  being  seated  behind  the 
counter,  in  close  proximity  to  the  glasses  and  bottles,  the  calls  for 
which  were  quite  as  frequent  as  the  votes.  I  occupied  a  seat  next 
the  Alcalde,  on  a  rough  couch  covered  with  an  India-rubber 
blanket,  where  I  passed  the  day  in  looking  on  the  election  and 
Rtudying  the  singular  characters  present. 

As  there  were  two  or  three  candidates  for  State  offices  in  the 
place,  the  drumming  up  of  voters  gave  one  a  refreshing  reminis 
cence  of  home.  The  choosing  of  candidates  from  lists,  nearly  aD 
of  whom  were  entirely  unknown,  was  very  amusing.  Names,  in 
many  instances,  were  made  to  stand  for  principles ;  accordingly,  a 
Mr.  Fair  got  many  votes.  One  of  the  candidates,  who  had  been 
m  the  river  a  few  days  previous,  wearing  a  high-crowned  silk  hat, 


VOTING    AND    VOTERS.  25d 

with  narrow  brim,  lost  about  twenty  votes  on  that  aooonnt.  Some 
went  no  fui-ther  than  to  vote  for  those  they  actually  knew.  One 
who  took  the  opposite  extreme,  justified  himself  in  this  wise : — 
"  When  I  left  home,"  said  he,  "  I  was  determined  to  go  it  blind 
I  went  it  blind  in  coming  to  California,  and  I'm  not  going  to  stoj 
now.  I  voted  for  the  Constitution,  and  I've  never  seen  the  Con- 
stitution I  voted  for  all  the  candidates,  and  I  don't  know  a 
damned  one  of  them.  I'm  going  it  blind  all  through,  I  am,"  The 
Californians  and  resident  Mexicans  who  were  entitled  to  vote,  were 
in  high  spirits,  on  exercising  the  privilege  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives.  It  made  no  difference  what  the  ticket  was  ;  the  fact 
of  their  having  voted  very  much  increased  their  self-importanoe. 
for  the  day  at  least. 

The  votes  polled  amounted  to  one  hundred  and  five,  all  of  which 
jrere  "  For  the  Constitution."  The  number  of  miners  on  the 
Bar,  who  were  entitled  to  vote,  was  probably  double  this  numbar, 
but  those  who  were  at  work  up  among  the  gulches  remained  in 
their  tents,  on  account  of  the  rain.  A  company  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river  was  completely  cut  off  from  the  polls  by  the  rise  of 
the  flood,  which  made  it  impossible  for  them  to  cross.  The  In- 
spectors were  puzzled  at  first  how  far  to  extend  the  privilege  of 
sujBFrage  to  the  Mexicans.  There  was  no  copy  of  the  Treaty  of 
Queretaro  to  be  had,  and  the  exact  wording  of  the  clause  referring 
to  this  subject  was  not  remembered.  It  was  at  last  decided,  how- 
ever, that  those  who  had  been  residing  iu  the  country  since  the 
conquest,  and  intended  to  remain  permanently,  might  be  admitted 
to  vote  ;  and  the  question  was  therefore  put  to  each  one  in  turn. 
The  most  of  them  answered  readily  in  the  affirmative,  and  seemeo 
delighted  to  be  considered  as  citizens.  "  Como  no  ?"  said  a  fat 
trood-hum  >red  fellow,  with  a  ruddy  olive  face,  as  he  gave  hit 


254  ELPORADO. 

ntrape  a  new  twirl  over  his  shoulder  :  "  Gomo  ito  ?  toy  Ainerican\. 
xhora?''  (Why  not  ?  I  am  now  an  American.)  The  candidates, 
irhose  interest  it  was  to  search  out  all  delinquents,  finally  exhaust* 
»d  the  roll,  and  the  polls  were  closed.  The  returns  were  made 
out  in  due  form,  signed  and  dispatched  by  a  messenger  to  th« 
Double  Spring,  to  await  the  carrier  from  the  Upper  Bar,  who  wa« 
to  convey  them  to  Stockton. 

During  the  few  days  I  spent  on  the  Mokelumne,  I  had  an  oppor 
tunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  many  curious  characteristics 
and  incidents  of  mining  life.  It  would  have  been  an  interesting 
study  for  a  philosopher,  to, note  the  different  effects  which  sudden 
enrichment  produced  upon  different  persons,  especially  those  whose 
lives  had  previously  been  passed  in  the  midst  of  poverty  and  pri- 
vation. The  most  profound  scholar  in  human  nature  might  here 
have  learned  something  which  all  his  previous  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence could  never  teach.  It  was  not  precisely  the  development  of 
new  qualities  in  the  man,  but  the  exhibition  of  changes  and  con- 
trasts of  character,  unexpected  and  almost  unaccountable.  The 
world-old  moral  of  gold  was  completely  falsified.  Those  who  were 
unused  to  labor,  whose  daily  ounce  or  two  seemed  a  poor  recom- 
pense for  weary  muscles  and  flagging  spirits,  might  carefully  hoard 
their  gains ;  but  they  whose  hardy  fibre  grappled  with  the  tough 
earth  as  naturally  as  if  it  knew  no  fitter  play,  and  made  the  coarse 
gravel  and  rocky  strata  yield  up  their  precious  grains,  were  aa 
profuse  as  princes  and  as  open-hearted  as  philanthropists 
Weather-beaten  tars,  wiry,  delving  Irishmen,  and  stalwart  forest- 
ers from  the  wilds  of  Missouri,  became  a  race  of  sybarites  and 
epicureans.  Secure  in  possessing  the  "  Open  Sesame"  to  the 
exhaustless  treasury  under  their  feet,  they  gave  free  rein  to  eveij 
whim  or  impulse  which  could  possibly  be  gratified. 


AN    ENGLISHMAN    IN    RAPTURES.  255 

It  was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  a  company  of  these  men,  who 
had  never  before  had  a  thought  of  luxury  beyond  a  good  beef- 
steak and  a  glass  of  whiskey,  drinking  their  champagne  at  ten  dol- 
lars a  bottle,  and  eating  their  tongue  and  sardines,  or  warming  in 
the  smoky  camp-kettle  their  tin  canisters  of  turtle-soup  and  lobster- 
galad.  It  was  frequently  remarked  that  the  Oregonians,  thougt 
accustomed  all  their  lives  to  the  most  simple,  solid  and  temperate 
fare,  went  beyond  every  other  class  of  miners  in  their  fondnesp 
for  champagne  and  all  kinds  of  cordials  and  choice  liquors 
These  were  the  only  luxuries  they  indulged  in,  for  they  were,  to  a 
man,  cautious  and  economical  in  the  use  of  gold. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  cases  I  saw  was  that  of  a  company  of 
Englishmen,  from  New  South  Wales,  who  had  been  on  the  Moke- 
lumne  about  a  week  at  the  time  of  my  visit.  They  had  only 
landed  in  California  two  weeks  previous,  and  this  was  their  first 
experience  of  gold-digging.  One  of  them,  a  tall,  strong-limbed 
fellow,  who  had  served  seven  years  as  a  private  of  cavalry,  was 
unceasing  in  his  exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight.  He  repeat- 
ed his  story  from  morning  till  night,  and  in  the  fullness  of  his 
heart  communicated  it  to  every  new  face  he  saw.  "  By  me  soul, 
but  this  is  a  great  country !"  he  would  exclaim  ;  "  here  a  man 
can  dig  up  as  much  goold  in  a  day  as  he  ever  saw  in  all  his  life 
Hav'n't  I  got  already  more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  an'  I've 
only  been  here  a  week.  An'  to  think  'at  I  come  here  with  never 
a  single  bloody  farthing  in  my  pocket !  An'  the  Frenchman, 
down  the  hill  there,  him  'at  sells  wittles,  he  wouldn't  trust  me  for 
a  piece  of  bread,  the  devil  take  him  !  '  If  ye  've  no  money,  go  an' 
dig  some ;'  says  he ;  '  people  dig  here  o'  Sundays  all  the  same.' 
'  HI  dig  o'  Sundays  for  no  man,  ye  bloody  villain  ;'  says  I,  '  I'B 

starve  first.'    An'  I  lid'nt,  an'  I  had  a  hungi-y  belly,  too.    But  o 
1* 


256  ELDORADO. 

Monday  I  dug  nineteen  dollars,  an'  o'  Tuesday  twenty -three,  an'  o 
Friday  two  hundred  an'  eighty-two  dollars  in  one  lump  as  big  aa 
yer  fist ;  an'  ail  for  not  workin'  o'  Sundays.  Was  there  ever 
rich  a  country  in  the  world!"  And,  as  if  to  convince  himseU 
that  he  actually  possessed  all  this  gold,  he  bought  champagne,  ale 
and  brandy  by  the  dozen  bottles,  and  insisted  on  supplying  everj 
body  in  the  settlement. 

There  was  one  character  on  the  river,  whom  I  had  met  on  my 
first  visit  in  August  and  still  found  there  on  my  return.  He  pos- 
sessed sufficient  individuality  of  appearance  and  habits  to  have 
made  him  a  hero  of  fiction  ;  Cooper  would  have  delighted  to  have 
stumbled  upon  him.  His  real  name  I  never  learned,  but  he  was 
known  to  all  the  miners  by  the  cognomen  of  "  Buckshot" — an 
appellation  which  seemed  to  suit  his  hard,  squab  figure  very  well 
He  might  have  been  forty  years  of  age  or  perhaps  fifty  ;  his  fiwe 
was  but  slightly  wrinkled,  and  he  wore  a  heavy  black  beard  which 
grew  nearly  to  his  eyes  and  entirely  concealed  his  mouth.  When 
he  removed  his  worn  and  dusty  felt  hat,  which  was  but  seldom,  hv 
large,  square  forehead,  bald  crown  and  serious  gray  eyes  gave  him 
an  appearance  of  reflective  intellect ; — a  promise  hardly  verified 
by  his  conversation.  He  was  of  a  stout  and  sturdy  frame,  and 
always  wore  clothes  of  a  coarse  texture,  with  a  flannel  shirt  and 
belt  containing  a  knife.  I  guessed  from  a  slight  peculiarity  of  his 
tccent  that  he  was  a  German  by  birth,  though  I  believe  he  was  not 
considered  so  by  the  miners. 

The  habits  of  "  Buckshot"  were  still  more  ecc^tric  than  his 
appearance.  He  lived  entirely  alone,  in  a  small  tent,  and  seemed 
rather  to  shun  than  court  the  society  of  others.  His  tastes  wert 
exceedingly  luxurious ;  he  always  had  the  best  of  everything  in 
the  market,  regardless  of  its  cost      The  finest  hams,  at  a  dollai 


"  BUCKSHOT."  257 

and  a  half  the  pound  ;  preserved  oysters,  com  and  peas,  at  six 
dollars  a  canister  ;  onions  and  potatoes,  whenever  such  articles 
made  their  appearance  ;  Chinese  sweetmeats  and  dried  fruits,  were 
all  on  his  table,  and  his  dinner  was  regularly  moistened  by  a  bottle 
of  champagne.  He  did  his  own  cooking,  an  operation  which  cost 
little  trouble,  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of  fresh  provisions.  Whes 
particularly  lucky  in  digging,  he  would  take  his  ease  for  a  day  oi 
two,  until  the  dust  was  exhausted,  when  he  would  again  shoulder 
his  pick  and  crowbar  and  commence  burrowing  in  some  lonely 
corner  of  the  rich  gulch.  He  had  been  in  the  country  since  tha 
drst  discovery  of  the  placers,  and  was  reported  to  have  dug,  in  all, 
between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  dollars, — all  of  which  he  had 
bpent  for  his  subsistence.  I  heard  him  once  say  that  he  never 
dug  less  than  an  ounce  in  one  day,  and  sometimes  as  much  as  two 
pounds.  The  rough  life  of  the  mountains  seemed  entirely  conge- 
nial to  his  tastes,  and  he  could  not  have  been  induced  to  change 
it  for  any  other,  though  less  laborious  and  equally  epicurean 

Among  the  number  of  miners  scattered  through  the  differ- 
ent  gulches,  I  met  daily  with  men  of  education  and  intel 
ligence,  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States.  It  was  never 
safe  to  presume  on  a  person's  character,  from  his  dress  or 
appearance.  A  rough,  dirty,  sunburnt  fellow,  with  unshorn 
beard,  quarrying  a\ray  for  life  at  the  bottom  of  some  rocky 
hole,  might  be  a  graduate  of  one  of  the  first  colleges  in  the 
country,  and  a  man  of  genuine  refinement  and  taste.  I  found 
plenty  of  men  who  were  not  outwardly  distinguishable  from  the 
'inveterate  trapper  or  mountaineer,  but  who,  a  year  before,  had 
been  patientless  physicians,  briefless  lawyers  and  half-starved 
editors  It  was  this  infusion  of  intelligence  which  gave  the  gold 
hunting  communities  notwithstanding  tlieir  barbaric  exterior  and 


258  BLDORADO. 

mode  of  life,  an  order  and  individual  security  which  at  first  sight 
Heemed  little  less  than  marvellous. 

Since  my  first  visit,  the  use  of  quicksilver  had  been  introduced 
on  the  river,  and  the  success  which  attended  its  application  to 
gold-washing  will  bring  it  henceforth  into  general  use.  An  im- 
proved rocker,  having  three  or  four  lateral  gutters  in  its  bottom 
which  were  filled  with  quicksilver,  took  up  the  gold  so  perfectly, 
that  not  the  slightest  trace  of  it  could  be  discovered  in  the  refuse 
earth.  The  black  sand,  which  was  formerly  rejected,  was  washed 
in  a  bowl  containing  a  little  quicksilver  in  the  bottom,  and  the 
amalgam  formed  by  the  gold  yielded  four  dollars  to  every  pound 
of  sand.  Mr.  James,  who  had  washed  out  a  great  deal  of  this 
sand,  evaporated  the  quicksilver  in  a  retort,  and  produced  a  cake 
of  fine  gold  worth  nearly  five  hundred  dollars.  The  machines  sold 
at  one  thousand  dollars  apiece,  the  owners  having  wisely  taken  the 
precaution  to  have  them  patented. 

There  is  no  doubt  that,  by  means  of  quicksilver,  much  of  the 
soil  which  has  heretofore  been  passed  by  as  worthless,  will  give  a 
rich  return.  The  day  before  my  departure.  Dr.  Gillette  washed 
out  several  panfuls  of  earth  from  the  very  top  of  the  hills,  and 
found  it  to  contain  abundance  of  fine  grains  of  gold.  A  heap  of 
refuse  earth,  left  by  the  common  rocker  after  ten  thousand  dollars 
had  been  washed,  yielded  still  another  thousand  to  the  new  ma- 
chine. Quicksilver  was  enormously  high,  four  dollars  a  pound 
having  been  paid  in  Stockton.  When  the  mines  of  Santa  Clara 
ghall  be  in  operation,  the  price  will  be  so  much  reduced  that  its 
use  will  become  universal  and  the  annual  golden  harvest  be  thereby 
greatly  increased.  It  will  be  many  years  before  all  the  placers  or 
gold  deposits  are  touched,  no  matter  how  large  the  emigration  to 
^•<tlifomia  mav  be      The  region  in  which  all  the  mining  operationf> 


MT    OWN    GOl  D-fifOOINO.  259 

are  now  carried  on,  extending  from  the  base  of  the  proper  Sierra 
Nevada  to  the  plains  of  Sacramento  and  San  Joaquin,  is  upwards 
of  five  hundred  miles  in  length  by  fifty  in  breadth.  Towards  the 
head  of  the  Sacramento  River  gold  is  also  found  in  the  granite 
formation,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  exists  in  the 
valleys  and  cafions  of  the  great  snowy  ridge. 

I  was  strongly  tempted  to  take  hold  of  the  pick  and  pan,  ana . 
try  my  luck  in  the  gulches  for  a  week  or  two.  I  had  fully  intended, 
on  reaching  California,  to  have  personally  tested  the  pleasure  of 
gold-digging,  as  much  for  the  sake  of  a  thorough  experience  of  lift 
among  the  placers  as  from  a  sly  hope  of  striking  on  a  pocket  full 
of  big  lumps.  The  unexpected  coming-on  of  the  rainy  season, 
made  my  time  of  too  much  account,  besides  adding  greatly  to  the 
hardships  of  the  business.  Two  or  three  days'  practice  is  requisite 
to  handle  the  implements  properly,  and  I  had  no  notion  of  learning 
the  manipulations  without  fingering  the  gold.  Once,  indeed,  I 
took  a  butcher-knife,  went  into  one  of  the  forsaken  holes  in  the 
big  gulch,  lay  on  my  back  as  I  had  seen  the  other  miners  do,  and 
endeavored  to  pick  out  some  yellow  grains  from  the  crevices  of  the 
crumbling  rock.  My  search  was  vain,  however,  and  I  was  indebted 
to  the  kindness  of  some  friends  for  the  only  specimens  I  brought 
away  from  the  Diggings. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    RAINT    SEASON. 

I  i^EFi  the  Mokelumne  River  the  afternoon  follcwing  Eleotioo 
Day,  and  retraced  my  path  to  Jackson's  Creek,  which  I  reached 
at  dark.  Being  unhorsed,  I  resumed  my  old  plodding  gait, 
"  packing"  my  blankets  and  spurs.  I  was  obliged  to  walk  to  the 
Upper  Bar,  in  order  to  cross  the  Mokelumne,  whose  current  was 
now  very  deep  and  rapid.  A  man  named  Bills,  who  kept  a  brush 
hotel  with  a  canvas  roof,  had  set  up  an  impromptu  ferry,  made  by 
nailing  a  few  planks  upon  four  empty  barrels,  lashed  together 
This  clumsy  float  was  put  over  by  means  of  a  rope  stretched  from 
bank  to  bank.  The  tendency  of  the  barrels  to  roll  in  the  swift 
current,  made  it  very  insecure  for  more  than  two  persons.  The 
same  morning,  four  men  who  were  crossing  at  once,  overbore  its 
delicate  equilibrium  and  were  tipped  into  the  water,  whence  they 
were  rescued  with  some  difficulty.  A  load  of  freight  met  with  the 
game  luck  just  before  I  reached  the  ferry.  The  banks  were  heaped 
with  barrels,  trunks,  crates  of  onions  and  boxes  of  liquor,  waitiug 
t-j  be  taken  over,  and  some  of  the  Mexican  arrieros  were  endear 
voring  to  push  their  pack-mules  into  the  water  and  force  them  to 
Bwim.  I  took  my  place  on  the  unsteady  platform  with  some  doubts 
of  a  dry  skin,  but  as  we  were  all  careful  to  keep  a  ^oiub  linOy  thi 
passage  was  made  in  safety. 


NIGHT  AT  Jackson's  creek.  281 

I  toiled  up  the  windings  of  a  deep  gulch,  whose  loneliness,  aftei 
r  had  passed  the  winter  huts  of  the  gold-diggers,  was  made  verj 
impressive  by  the  gathering  twilight.  The  gray  rocks  which  walled 
it  in  towards  the  summit  looked  dim  and  spectral  under  the  eavet 
01  the  pines,  and  a  stream  of  turbid  water  splashed  with  a  melan- 
choly sound  into  the  chasm  below.  The  transparent  glimmer  of 
the  lighted  tents  on  Jackson's  Creek  had  a  cheery  look  as  seen  al 
the  bottom  of  the  gulch  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain.  I 
stopped  at  Cosgrove's  tent,  where  several  travelers  who  had  ar- 
rived before  me  were  awaiting  supper.  We  sat  about  the  fire  and 
ialked  of  gold-digging,  the  election  and  the  prospect  of  supplies 
for  the  winter.  When  Mrs.  Cosgrove  had  finished  frying  her  beef 
and  boiling  her  coffee,  we  rolled  to  the  table  all  the  casks,  boxes 
and  logs  we  could  find,  and  sat  down  to  our  meal  under  the 
open  stars.  A  Chinook  Indian  from  Oregon  acted  as  waiter — an 
attendance  which  we  would  rather  have  dispensed  with.  I  was 
offered  a  raw-hide  in  one  comer  of  a  small  storage-tent,  and  spread 
my  blanket  upon  it ;  the  dampness  of  the  earth,  however,  striking 
through  both  hide  and  blankets,  gave  me  several  chills  and  rheu- 
matic pains  of  the  joints,  before  morning.  The  little  community 
established  on  the  knoll  numbered  about  sixty  persons.  Thej 
were  all  settled  there  for  the  winter,  though  the  gold  dug  did 
not  average  more  than  half  an  ounce  to  each  man,  daily. 

Next  morning,  I  crossed  the  hills  to  Sutter's  Creek,  where  1 
fotind  the  settlement  increased  by  several  new  arrivals.  From 
this  place  my  path  branched  off  to  the  north,  crossing  several 
mountain  ridges  to  Amador's  Creek,  which,  like  the  streams  I  had 
already  passed,  was  lined  with  t^nts  and  winter  cabins.  I  ques- 
doned  several  miners  about  their  profits,  but  could  get  no  satisfac- 
tory answer.     Singularly  enough,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  learn 


262  ELDORADO. 

from  the  miners  themselves,  unless  one  happens  to  be  a  near  ao 
quaiutanee,  the  amount  of  their  gains.  If  unlucky,  they  dislike 
to  confess  it ;  if  the  contrary,  they  have  good  reason  for  keeping  it 
secret.  When  most  complaining,  they  may  be  most  successful. 
I  heard  of  one,  who,  after  digging  fruitlessly  for  a  week,  came 
suddenly  on  a  pocket,  containing  about  three  hundred  dollars. 
Seeing  a  friend  approaching,  he  hastily  filled  it  up  with  stones,  and 
began  gi-ubbing  in  the  top  soil.  "  Well,  what  luck  }"  inquired 
his  friend.  "  Not  a  damned  cent,"  was  the  answer,  given  with  a 
mock  despondency,  while  the  pale  face  and  stammering  voice  be- 
trayed the  cheat  at  once.  Nobody  believes  you  are  not  a  gold- 
hunter.  He  must  be  a  fool,  they  think,  who  would  go  to  the 
mountains  for  any  other  purpose.  The  questions  invariably  asked 
me  were  :  "  Where  have  you  been  digging  ?"  and  "  Where  do 
you  winter .?"  If  I  spoke  of  going  home  soon,  the  expression 
was  :  "  Well,  I  s'pose  you've  got  your  pile  ;"  or,  "  You've  been 
lucky  in  your  prospecting,  to  get  off  so  soon." 

Leaving  Amador's  Creek,  a  walk  of  seven  miles  took  me  to 
Dry  Creek,  where  I  found  a  population  of  from  two  to  three  hun- 
dred, established  for  the  winter.  The  village  was  laid  out  with 
some  regularity,  and  had  taverns,  stores,  butchers'  shops  and 
monte  tables.  The  digging  was  going  on  briskly,  and  averaged 
a  good  return.  The  best  I  could  hear  of,  was  $114  in  two 
days,  contrasted  with  which  were  the  stories  of  several  who  had 
got  nothing  but  the  fever  and  ague  for  their  pains.  The  amount 
of  sickness  on  these  small  rivers  during  the  seasou  had  been  very 
great,  and  but  a  small  part  of  it,  in  my  opinion,  was  to  be  ascribed 
to  excesses  of  any  kind.  All  new  countries,  it  is  well  known, 
breed  fever  and  ague,  and  this  was  especially  the  case  in  the  gold 
region,  where,  before  the  rains  came  on,  the  miner  was  cxpos'  d 


THE    WINTER    SETTLEMENTS.  263 

tx)  intense  heat  during  the  day  and  was  frequently  cold  undei 
double  blankets  at  night.  The  water  of  many  of  the  rivers  3ooa- 
sious  diarrhoea  to  those  who  drink  it,  and  scarcely  one  out  of  • 
hundred  emigrants  escapes  an  attack  of  this  complaint. 

At  all  these  winter  settlements,  however  small,  an  alcalde  !e 
chosen  and  regulations  established,  as  near  as  possible  in  accord- 
ance with  the  existing  laws  of  the  country.  Although  the  autho- 
rity exercised  by  the  alcalde  is  sometimes  nearly  absolute,  the 
miners  invariably  respect  and  uphold  it.  Thus,  at  whatever  oosfc, 
order  and  security  are  preserved  ;  and  when  the  State  org^-aization 
shall  have  been  completed,  the  mining  communities,  for  s.n  extern 
of  five  hundred  miles,  will,  by  a  quiet  and  easy  process,  pass  into 
regularly  constituted  towns,  and  enjoy  as  good  government  and 
protection  as  any  other  part  of  the  State.  Nothing  in  Oaliforuia 
seemed  more  miraculous  to  me  than  this  spontaneous  evolution  ol 
social  order  from  the  worst  elements  of  anarchy  It  was  a  lessor 
worth  even  more  than  the  gold. 

The  settlement  on  Dry  Creek  is  just  on  the  skirts  of  the  rough 
mountain  region — tho  country  of  canons,  gulches,  canadas  and 
divides  ;  terms  as  familar  in  the  diggings  as  "  per  cent"  in  Wall- 
street.  I  had  intended  to  strike  directly  across  the  mountains  to 
the  American  Fork.  The  people  represented  this  route  to  be  im- 
practicable, and  the  jagged  ridges,  ramparted  with  rock,  which 
towered  up  in  that  direction,  seemed  to  verify  the  story,  so  I  took 
the  trail  ♦'or  Daly's  Ranche,  twenty-two  miles  distant.  After 
passing  the  Willow  Springs,  a  log  hut  on  the  edge  of  a  swamp, 
the  road  descended  to  the  lower  hills,  where  it  was  crossed  by  fre- 
quent streams.  I  passed  on  the  way  a  group  of  Indians  who  were 
skinning  a  horse  they  had  killed  and  were  about  to  roast.  They 
were  well  armed  and  had  probably  shot  the  horse  while  it  ww 


264  &LDURADO. 

grazing.  I  greeted  them  with  a  "  buenas  dias,"  which  they  bxiI- 
lenly  returned,  adding  an  "  ugh  :  ugh  !"  which  might  have  ex- 
pressed either  contempt,  admiration,  friendship  or  fear. 

lu  traveling  through  these  low  hills,  I  passed  several  companiea 
of  miners  who  were  engaged  in  erecting  log  huts  for  the  winter. 
The  gravelly  bottoms  in  many  places  showed  traces  of  their  pros- 
pecting, and  the  rocker  was  in  operation  where  there  was  sufficient 
water.  When  I  inquired  the  yield  of  gold  I  could  get  no  satis- 
factory answer,  but  the  faces  of  the  men  betrayed  no  sign  of  disap- 
pointmant.  While  resting  under  a  leafless  oak,  I  was  joined  by  a 
boy  of  nineteen  who  had  been  digging  on  the  Dry  Creek  and  was 
now  returning  to  San  Francisco,  ague-stricken  and  penniless.  We 
walked  on  in  company  for  several  hours,  under  a  dull  gray  sky, 
which  momentarily  threatened  rain.  The  hot  flush  of  fever  was 
on  his  face,  and  he  seemed  utterly  desponding  and  disinclined  to 
talk.  Towards  night,  when  the  sky  had  grown  darker,  he  de- 
clared himself  unable  to  go  further,  but  I  encouraged  him  to  keep 
on  until  we  reached  a  cabin,  where  the  miners  kindly  received  him 
for  the  night. 

I  met  on  the  road  many  emigrant  wagons,  boimd  for  the  dig 
^ngs.  They  traveled  in  companies  of  two  and  three,  joining 
teams  whenever  their  wagons  stuck  fast  in  the  mire.  Some  were 
obliged  to  unload  at  the  toughest  places,  and  leave  part  of  their 
stores  on  the  Plain  until  they  could  return  from  then  Winter  quar- 
ters. Their  noon  camps  would  be  veritable  treasures  for  m 
friend  Darley,  the  artist,  if  he  could  have  seen  them.  The  men 
were  all  gaunt,  long-limbed  Rip  Van  Winkles,  with  brown  faces, 
matted  hair  and  beards,  and  garments  which  seemed  to  have 
grown  up  with  them,  for  you  could  not  believe  they  had  ever  been 
tia&en  oflE.     The  women,  who  were  somewhat  more  tidy,  had  suf 


THE    RAINS    AND    THE   PLAIIJS.  265 

fered  less  from  the  journey,  but  there  were  still  many  fine  subjecti 
for  the  pencil  among  them.  In  the  course  of  the  day  I  passed 
about  thirty  teams. 

At  night,  after  a  toilsome  journey,  I  reached  the  Cosmnne 
River,  two  miles  below  the  diggings.  I  was  wet  from  the  swamps 
I  crossed  and  the  pools  I  had  waded,  weary  in  body,  and 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  traveling  on  the 
Plains  during  the  rainy  season.  One  would  think,  from  the 
parched  and  seamed  appearance  of  the  soil  in  summer,  that  noth- 
ing short  of  an  absolute  deluge  could  restore  the  usual  moisture. 
A  single  rain,  however,  fills  up  the  cracks,  and  a  week  of  wet 
weather  turns  the  dusty  plain  into  a  deep  mire,  the  hollows  into 
pools,  and  the  stony  arroyos  into  roaring  streams.  The  roa'la 
then  become  impassable  for  wagons,  killing  to  mules,  and  terribly 
laborious  for  pedestrians.  In  the  loose,  gravelly  soil  on  the  hill- 
tops, a  horse  at  once  sinks  above  his  knees,  and  the  only  change 
of  travel  is  by  taking  the  clayey  bottoms.  Where,  a  month  be- 
fore there  had  been  a  Jornada  of  twenly  miles,  arid  as  the  desert, 
my  path  was  now  crossed  by  fifty  streams. 

Where  the  trail  struck  the  river  I  came  upon  a  siaaU  tent, 
pitched  by  the  roadside,  and  was  hailed  by  the  occupants.  They 
were  two  young  men  from  Boston,  who  came  out  in  the  sum- 
mer, went  to  the  North-Fork  of  the  American,  prospered  in  their 
digging,  and  were  going  southward  to  spend  the  winter.  They 
were  good  specimens  of  the  sober,  hardy,  persevering  gold-digger 
— ^a  class  who  never  fail  to  make  their  "  piles."  I  willingly  ao- 
eepted  their  invitation  to  spend  the  night,  whereupon  they  threw 
another  log  on  the  camp-fire,  mixed  some  batter  for  slap-jacks,  and 
put  a  piece  of  .<?alt  pork  in  the  pan.  We  did  not  remain  long 
»bout  the  fire,  after  my  supper  was  finished.     Uniting  our  store  ol 


266  ELDORADO 

blankets,  we  made  a  bed  in  common  for  all  three,  entirely  filling 
the  space  covered  by  the  little  tent.  Two  or  three  showers  fell 
daring  the  night,  and  the  dash  of  rain  on  the  canvas,  so  near  my 
bead,  made  doubly  grateful  the  warmth  and  snugness  of  oui 
covert. 

The  morning  brought  another  rain,  and  the  roads  grew  deeper 
and  tougher.  At  Coates's  Ranche,  two  miles  farther,  T  was 
ferried  across  the  Cosumne  in  a  canoe.  The  river  waa  falling,  and 
teams  could  barely  p-ass.  The  day  previous  a  wagon  and  team 
had  been  washed  several  hundred  yards  down  the  stream,  and  the 
owners  were  still  endeavoring  to  recover  the  running  works  which 
lay  in  a  deep  hole.  Several  emigrant  companies  were  camped  on 
the  grassy  bottoms  along  the  river,  waiting  a  chance  to  cross.  Al 
the  ranche  I  found  breakfast  just  on  the  table,  and  to  be  had  at 
the  usual  price  of  a  dollar  and  a  half ;  the  fare  consisted  of  beef 
broiled  in  the  fire,  coarse  bread,  frijoles  and  cofiee.  The  landlady 
was  a  Grcrman  emigrant,  but  had  been  so  long  among  the  Ameri- 
can settlers  and  native  rancheros,  that  her  talk  was  a  three-stranded 
twist  of  the  different  languages.  She  seemed  quite  unconscious 
that  she  was  not  talking  in  a  single  tongue,  for  all  three  came 
to  serve  her  thought  with  equal  readiness. 

I  stood  in  the  door  some  time,  deliberating  what  to  do.  The 
sky  had  closed  in  upon  the  plain  with  a  cheerless  drizzle,  which 
made  walking  very  uncomfortable,  and  I  could  find  no  promise  of 
a  favorable  change  of  weather.  My  intention  had  been  to  visit 
Mormon  Island  and  afterwards  Culloma  Mill,  on  the  American 
Perk.  The  former  place  was  about  thirty  miles  distant,  but  the 
trail  was  faint  and  difficult  to  find  ;  while,  should  the  rain  increase, 
I  could  not  hope  to  make  the  journey  in  one  day.  The  walk  to 
Baoramento  presented  an  equally  dispiriting  aspect,  but  after  somo 


A    RANCHE    AND   ITS   INHABITANTS.  207 

^uosiioning  and  deliberation,  I  thought  it  possible  that  Generai 
Morse  might  have  left  my  gray  mare  at  some  of  the  ranches 
farther  down  the  river,  and  resolved  to  settle  the  question  before 
going  further.  Within  the  space  of  two  or  three  miles  I  visited 
<hree,  and  came  at  last  to  a  saw-mill,  beyond  which  there  was  no 
habitation  for  ten  miles.  The  family  in  an  adjoining  house  seemed 
little  disposed  to  make  my  acquaintance ;  I  therefore  took  shelter 
from  the  rain,  which  was  now  pouiing  fast,  in  a  mud  cabin,  on  the 
floor  of  which  lay  two  or  three  indolent  vaqueros  They  were 
acquainted  with  every  animal  on  all  the  ranches,  and  unhesitating 
iy  declared  that  my  mare  was  not  among  them. 

When  the  rain  slacked,  I  walked  back  to  one  of  the  othet 
ranches,  where  I  found  several  miners  who  had  taken  shelter  in  a 
new  adobe  house,  which  was  partially  thatched.  We  gathered 
together  in  a  room,  the  floor  of  which  was  covered  with  wet  tule 
%nd  endeavored  to  keep  ourselves  warm.  The  place  was  so  chill 
that  I  went  into  the  house  inhabited  by  the  faroJIv,  and  askod  per- 
mission to  dry  myself  at  the  fire.  The  occupants  were  two  wo- 
men, apparently  sisters,  of  the  ages  of  eighteen  and  thirty ;  the 
younger  would  have  been  handsome,  but  for  an  expression  of  ha- 
bitual discontent  and  general  contempt  of  everything.  They  made 
no  answer  to  my  request,  so  I  took  a  chair  and  sat  down  near  the 
blaze.  Two  female  tongues,  however,  cannot  long  keep  silent, 
and  presently  the  elder  launched  into  a  violent  anathema  against 
all  emigrants^  as  she  called  them.  I  soon  learned  that  she  had 
been  in  the  coimtry  three  years  ;  that  she  had  at  first  been  living 
on  Bear  Creek ;  that  the  overland  emigrants,  the  previous  year 
having  come  into  the  country  almost  destitute,  app'-opriated  some 
of  the  supplies  which  had  been  left  at  home  while  the  family  srae 
•hsent  gold-hunting ;  and,  finallv,  that  the  fear  of  being  in  fdtur* 


'iOB  BLOORASO. 

plundirod  of  their  cattle  and  wheat  had  driven  them  to  the  banks 
of  the  Cosumne,  where  they  had  hoped  for  some  security.  Thej 
were  deceived,  however  ;  the  emigrants  troubled  them  worse  than 
ever,  and  though  they  charged  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  meal  and 
aometimes  cleared  fifty  dollars  a  day,  stUl  their  hatred  was  not 
abated. 

Most  especially  did  the  elder  express  her  resentment  agains 
the  said  emigrants,  on  account  of  their  treatment  of  the  Indians. 
I  felt  disposed  at  first  to  agree  with  her  wholly  in  their  condem- 
nation, but  it  appeared  that  she  was  influenced  by  other  motives 
than  those  of  humanity.  "  Afore  these  here  emigrants  come," 
said  she  ;  "  the  Injuns  were  as  well-behaved  and  bidable  as  could 
be ;  I  liked  'em  more  'n  the  whites.  When  we  begun  to  find  gold 
on  the  Yuber,  we  could  git  'em  to  work  for  us  day  in  and  day  out 
for  next  to  nothin'.  We  told  'em  the  gold  was  stuff  to  whitewasl 
houses  with,  and  give  'em  a  hankecher  for  a  tin-cup  full ;  but  aftc 
tne  emigrants  begun  to  come  along  and  put  all  sorts  of  notiom 
into  their  heads,  there  was  no  gettm  ihem  to  do  nothin'." 

I  took  advantage  of  a  break  in  this  streak  of  "  chain  lightning.,' 
to  inquire  whether  Dr.  Grwin  and  Gen.  Morse  had  recently  passed 
that  way ;  but  they  did  not  know  them  by  name.  "  Well,"  said 
I,  "  the  gentlemen  who  are  trying  to  get  elected."  "  Yes,"  re- 
joined the  elder,  "  them  people  was  here.  They  stuck  their  headj 
in  the  door  one  night  and  asked  if  they  might  have  supper  and 
lodgin'  I  told  'em  no,  I  guessed  they  couldn't.  Jist  then  Mr. 
Kewen  come  along ;  he  know'd  'em  and  made  'em  acquainted. 
Gosh '  but  I  was  mad.  I  had  to  git  supper  for  'em  then  ;  but  U 
t'd  'a  bin  wi«,  I'd  'a  had  more  spunk  than  to  eat,  after  I'd  bin 
told  I  could 'n't."  It  had  been  difficult  for  me  to  keep  a  serioue 
eountenance  before,  but  now  1  buist  into  a  hearty  laugh,  which 


A    FEMININE    COMPLIMtNT.  269 

they  took  as  a  compliment  to  their  "  spunk."  One  of  the  house* 
hold,  a  man  of  some  education,  questioned  me  as  to  the  object  of 
my  emigration  to  California,  which  I  explained  without  reserve. 
This,  however,  brought  on  another  violent  expression  of  opinion 
from  the  same  female.  "  That's  jist  the  way,"  said  she ;  "  sotM 
people  come  here,  think  they've  done  great  things,  and  go  home 
and  publish  all  sorts  of  lies ;  but  they  don't  know  no  more'n  noth 
in'  in  God  A'mighty's  world,  as  much  as  them  people  that's  bin 
here  three  years."  After  this  declaration  I  thought  it  best  to 
retre?vt  to  the  half-finished  adobe  house,  and  remain  with  my  com- 
panions in  misery.  Towards  evening  we  borrowed  an  axe,  with 
which  we  procured  fuel  enough  for  the  night,  and  built  a  good 
fire  A  Mexican,  driven  in  by  the  rain,  took  out  his  cards  and  set 
up  a  monte  bank  of  ten  dollars,  at  which  the  others  played  with 
shillings  and  quarters.  I  tried  to  read  an  odd  volume  of  the 
"  Scottish  Chiefs,"  which  I  found  in  the  house,  but  the  old  charm 
was  gone,  and  I  wondered  at  the  childish  taste  which  was  so  fasci- 
nated with  its  pages. 

We  slept  together  on  the  earthen  floor.  All  night  the  rain  pat- 
tered on  the  tule  thatch,  but  at  sunrise  it  ceased.  The  sky  was 
still  lowering,  and  the  roads  were  growing  worse  so  rapidly,  that 
instead  of  starting  across  the  plains  for  Mormon  Island,  the  near- 
est point  on  the  American  Fork  where  the  miners  were  at  work, 
I  turned  about  for  Sacmmento  City,  thinking  it  best  to  return 
while  there  was  a  chance.  A  little  experience  of  travel  over  the 
saturated  soil  soon  convinced  me  that  my  tour  in  the  mountains 
waa  over.  I  could  easily  relinquish  my  anticipations  of  a  visit  to 
the  mining  regions  of  the  American  Fork,  Bear  and  Yuba  Rivers, 
for  life  at  the  different  diggings  is  very  much  the  same,  and  the 
ebaracter  of  the  gold  deposits  does  not  materially  vary  ;  but  therr 


270  ELDORADO. 

had  ever  been  a  shining  point  in  the  background  of  all  my  tot 
mer  dreams  of  California — a  shadowy  object  to  be  attained,  of 
which  I  had  never  lost  sight  during  my  wanderings  and  from 
■jrhich  I  could  not  turn  away  without  a  pang  of  regret  and  disap- 
p<^intment.  This  was,  a  journey  to  the  head  of  the  Sacramento 
VaUey,  a  sight  of  the  stupendous  Shaste  Peak,  which  stands  like 
an  obelisk  of  granite  capped  with  gleaming  marble,  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Oregon,  and  perhaps  an  exploration  of  the  terrific  canons 
through  which  the  river  plunges  in  a  twenty-mile  cataract,  from 
the  upper  shelf  of  the  mountains.  The  fragments  of  description 
which  I  had  gathered  from  Oregonians,  emigrants  and  "  prospec- 
fcers"  who  had  visited  that  region,  only  made  my  anticipations 
more  glowing  and  my  purpose  more  fixed.  I  knew  there  was 
grandeur  there,  though  there  might  not  be  gold.  Three  weeks  of 
rough  travel,  had  the  dry  season  extended  to  its  usual  length, 
would  have  enabled  me  to  make  the  journey  ;  but,  like  most  of 
tihe  splendid  plans  we  build  for  ourselves,  I  was  obliged  to  give  it 
up  on  the  eve  of  fulfilment.  A  few  days  of  rain  completely  washed 
it  out  of  my  imagination,  and  it  was  long  before  I  could  fill  the 
blank. 

I  was  accompanied  by  one  of  the  "  Iowa  Rangers,"  from  Du- 
buque, Iowa.    He  had  been  at  work  at  the  Dry  Diggings  on  Weav- 
er's Creek.     He  was  just  recovering  from  the  scurvy,  and  could 
not  travel  fast,  but  was  an  excellent  hand  at  wading.     Before 
reaching  the  timber  of  the  American  Fork,  we  crossed  thirty  o 
forty  streams,  many  of  which  were  knee-deep.     Where  they  wei 
eo  wide  as  to  render  a  leap  impossible,  my  pjan  was  to  dash  throng 
at  full  speed,  and  I  generally  got  over  with  but  a  partial  satura- 
tion :  the  broad,  shallow  pools  obliged  us  to  stop  and  pull  off  oui 
boots.     It  was  one  form  of  the  water-cure  I  did  not  relish.     "  If 


SACRAMENTO    AGAIN  271 

kills  be  traveling  in  the  rainy  season,"  thought  I,  "  I'll  have  none 
of  it." 

On  the  banks  of  the  American  Fork  we  found  a  sandy  soil  and 
made  better  progress.  Following  that  beautiful  stream  through 
the  afternoon,  we  came  at  dusk  to  Sutter's  Fort,  which  was  sur 
rounded  by  a  moat  of  deep  mud.  I  picked  my  way  in  the  dark 
to  Sacramento  City,  but  was  several  times  lost  in  its  tented  laby- 
rintb"*  before  I  reached  Cirt.  Hiker's  store — ^under  whose  hospi- 
table roof  I  laid  down  my  pack  and  took  up  mv  abode  for  several 
day* 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


NIGHT    IN    SACRAMENTO    CITY. 


Sacramento  City  was  one  place  by  day  an  d  another  by  night, 
and  of  the  two,  its  night-side  was  the  most  peculiar.  As  the  day 
went  down  dull  and  cloudy,  a  thin  fog  gathered  in  the  humid  at- 
mosphere, through  which  the  canvas  houses,  lighted  from  within, 
shone  with  a  broad,  obscui-e  gleam,  that  confused  the  eye  and 
made  the  streets  most  familiar  by  daylight  look  strangely  different. 
They  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  same  places,  seen  at  mid-day, 
under  a  break  of  clear  sunshine,  and  pervaded  with  the  stir  of 
business  life.  The  town,  regular  as  it  was,  became  a  bewildering 
labyrinth  of  half-light  and  deep  darkness,  and  the  perils  of  travers- 
ing it  were  greatly  increased  by  the  mire  and  frequent  pools  left 
by  the  rain. 

To  one,  venturing  out  after  dark  for  the  first  time,  these  perih» 
were  by  no  means  imaginary.  Each  man  wore  boots  reaching  to 
the  knees — or  higher,  if  he  could  fret  them — with  the  pantaloons 
tucked  inside,  but  there  were  pio-falls,  into  which  had  he  fallen, 
even  these  would  have  availed  little.  In  the  more  frequented 
itreots,  where  drinking  and  gambling  had  full  swing,  there  was  a 
partial  light,  streaming  out  through  doors  and  crimson  window- 
oortains,  to  guide  bis  steps.     Sometimes  a  platfonn  of  plank  m 


P£BIL8  OF   A    NIGHT   BAMBLK.  2t3 

ceived  his  feet ;  sometimes  he  skipped  from  one  loose  hai  rel-stave 
to  another,  laid  with  the  convex-side  upward;  and  sometimes, 
deceived  by  a  scanty  piece  of  scantling,  he  walked  off  its  furthcT 
end  into  a  paddle  of  liquid  mud.  Now,  floundering  in  the  stifl 
mire  of  the  mid-street,  he  plunged  down  into  a  gulley  and  wa« 
"  brought  up"  by  a  pool  of  water  ;  now,  venturing  near  the  houses 
a  scaffold-pole  or  stray  beam  dealt  him  an  unexpected  blow.  H 
he  wandered  into  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  the  tent-city  of 
the  emigrants  was  built,  his  case  was  still  worse.  The  brierj 
thickets  of  the  original  forest  had  not  been  cleared  away,  and  the 
stumps,  trunks  and  branches  of  felled  trees  were  distributed  ovci 
the  soil  with  delightful  uncertairty  K  he  escaped  these,  the  la- 
riats of  picketed  mules  spread  their  toils  for  his  feet,  threatening 
entanglement  and  a  kick  from  one  of  the  vicious  animals ;  tent- 
ropes  and  pins  took  him  across  the  shins,  and  the  homed  heads  <A 
cattle,  left  where  they  were  slaughtered,  lay  ready  to  gore  him  at 
every  step.  A  walk  of  any  distance,  environed  by  such  dangers, 
especially  when  the  air  was  damp  and  chUl,  and  there  was  a  pos- 
sibility of  rain  at  any  moment,  presented  no  attractions  to  the 
weary  denizens  of  the  place. 

A  great  part  of  them,  indeed,  took  to  their  blankets  soon  after 
dark.  They  were  generally  worn  out  with  the  many  excitements 
of  thf  day,  and  glad  to  find  a  position  of  repose.  Reading  was 
out  of  the  question  to  tlie  most  of  them  when  candles  were  $4  pei 
lb.  and  scarce  at  that ;  but  in  any  case,  the  preternatural  activity 
and  employment  of  mind  induced  by  the  business  habits  of  th 
place  would  have  made  impossible  anythmg  like  quiet  thought 
I  saw  many  persons  who  had  brought  the  works  of  favorite  authors 
with  them,  for  recreation  at  odd  hours,  but  of  all  the  works  thu» 
brought,  I  never  saw  one  read.     Men  preferred — or  rather  it  grew, 


274  ELDORADO. 

involuntarily,  into  a  custom — to  lie  at  ease  instead,  and  turn  ovei 
in  the  brain  all  their  shifts  and  manoeuvres  of  speculation,  to  see 
whether  any  chance  had  been  left  uutouched.  Some,  grouped 
around  a  little  pocket-stove,  beguile  an  hour  or  two  over  their 
cans  of  steaming  punch  or  other  warming  concoction,  and  build 
Bchemes  out  of  the  smoke  of  their  rank  Guayaquil  pv/ros — for  the 
odor  of  a  genuine  Havana  is  unknown.  But,  by  nine  o'clock  at 
farthest,  nearly  all  the  working  population  of  Sacramento  City  are 
stretched  out  on  mattrass,  plank  or  cold  earth,  according  to  tho 
state  of  their  fortunes,  and  dreaming  of  splendid  runs  of  luck  oi 
listening  to  the  sough  of  the  wind  in  the  trees. 

There  is,  however,  a  large  floating  community  of  overland  emi- 
grants, miners  and  sporting  characters,  who  prolong  the  wakeful- 
ness of  the  streets  far  into  the  night.  The  door  of  many  a  gam- 
bling-hell on  the  levee,  and  in  J  and  K  streets,  stands  invitingly 
open  ;  the  waU  of  torture  from  innumerable  musical  instruments 
peals  from  all  quarters  through  the  fog  and  darkness.  Full  bands, 
each  playing  diflFerent  tunes  discordantly,  are  stationed  in  front  of 
the  principal  establishments,  and  as  these  happen  to  be  near  to- 
gether, the  mingling  of  the  sounds  in  one  horrid,  ear-splitting, 
brazen  chaos,  would  drive  frantic  a  man  of  delicate  nerve.  All 
one's  old  acquaintances  in  the  amateur-music  line,  seem  to  have 
followed  him.  The  gentleman  who  played  the  flute  in  the  next 
room  to  yours,  at  home,  has  been  hired  at  an  ounce  a  night  to 
perform  in  the  drinking-tent  across  the  way  ;  the  very  French 
horn  whose  lamentations  used  to  awake  you  dismally  from  the  first 
Bweet  snooze,  now  greets  you  at  some  corner  ;  and  all  the  squeak- 
ing violins,  grumbling  violincellos  and  rowdy  trumpets  which  have 
severally  plagued  you  in  other  times,  are  congregated  here,  in 
loving  proximity      The  very  strength,  loudness  and  confusion  of 


ETHIOPIAN   MELODIES.  275 

tho  noise&^  wLioh,  heard  at  a  little  distance,  have  the  effect  of  one 
great  scattering  performance,  marvellously  takes  the  fancy  of  ibe 
rough  mountain  men. 

Some  of  the  establishments  have  small  companies  of  Ethiopian 
Qielodists,  who  nightly  call  upon  "  Susanna  !"  and  jntreat  to  be 
carried  back  to  Old  Virginny.  These  songs  are  universally  po- 
pular, and  the  crowd  of  listeners  is  often  so  great  as  to  embarrass 
the  player  at  the  monte  tables  and  injure  the  business  of  the 
gamblers.  I  confess  to  a  strong  liking  for  the  Ethiopian  airs,  and 
used  to  spend  half  an  hour  every  night  in  listening  to  them  and 
watching  the  curious  expressions  of  satisfaction  and  delight  in  the 
faces  of  the  overland  emigrants,  who  always  attended  in  a  body. 
The  spirit  of  the  music  was  always  encouraging  ;  even  its  mosi 
doleftd  passages  had  a  grotesqae  touch  of  cheerfulness — a  mingling 
of  sincere  pathos  and  whimsical  consolation,  which  somehow  took 
held  of  all  moods  in  which  it  might  be  heard,  raising  them  to  the 
same  notch  of  careless  good-humor.  The  Ethiopian  melodies  well 
deserve  to  be  called,  as  they  are  in  fact,  the  national  airs  of  America. 
Their  quaint,  mock-sentimental  cadences,  so  well  suited  to  the 
broad  absurdity  of  the  words — their  reckless  gaiety  and  irrevereni 
familiarity  with  serious  subjects — and  their  spirit  of  antagonism 
and  perseverance — are  true  expressions  of  the  more  popular  sides 
of  the  national  character.  They  follow  the  American  'ace  in  all 
its  emigrations,  colonizations  and  conquests,  as  certa'uly  as  the 
t^'ourth  of  July  and  Thanksgiving  Day.  The  penniless  and  half 
iespairing  emigrant  is  stimulated  to  try  again  by  the  sound  of 
"  It  '11  never  do  to  give  it  up  so  !"  and  feels  a  pang  of  home-sick 
ness  at  the  burthen  of  the  "  Old  Virginia  Shore." 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  Sacramento  City  boasted 
Uie  only  theatre  in  California.     Its  performances,  three  times  • 


276  BLOORADO. 

week,  were  attended  by  crowds  of  the  miners,  and  the  ownen 
realized  a  very  handsome  profit.  The  canvas  building  nsed  foi 
this  purpose  fronted  on  the  levee,  within  a  door  or  two  of  the  Citj 
Hotel  J  .t  ^ould  have  been  taken  for  an  ordinary  drinking-house 
but  for  the  sign :  "  Eagle  Theatre,"  which  was  nailed  to  the 
top  c '  the  canvas  frame.  Passing  through  the  bar-room  we  ar- 
rive at  the  entrance  ;  the  prices  of  admission  are  :  Box,  $3  ; 
Pit,  $2.  Tbe  spectators  are  dressed  in  heavy  overcoats  and  felt 
hats,  with  be  sts  reaching  to  the  knees.  The  box-tier  is  a  single 
rough  gallery  at  Dne  end,  capable  of  containing  about  a  hundied 
persons  j  the  pit  rlH  probably  hold  three  hundred  more,  so  that 
the  receipts  of  a  full  ^ouse  amount  to  $900.  The  sides  and  roof 
of  the  theatre  are  canvas,  which,  when  wet,  effectually  prevents 
ventilation,  and  renaers  the  atmosphere  hot  and  stifling.  The 
drop-curtain,  which  is  down  at  present,  exhibits  a  glaring  land- 
scape, with  dark-brown  trees  in  the  foreground,  and  lilac-colored 
mountains  against  a  yellow  sky. 

The  overture  commences ;  the  orchestra  is  composed  of  only 
fire  members,  under  the  direction  of  an  Italian,  and  performs  with 
tolera}  le  correctness.  The  piece  for  the  night  is  "  The  Spectre 
of  the  Forest,"  in  which  the  celebrated  actress,  Mrs.  Ray,  "  of  the 
Eoy  I  Theatre,  New  Zealand,"  will  appear.  The  bell  rings ;  the 
curtaia  rolls  up  ;  and  we  look  upon  a  forest  scene,  in  the  midst  ol 
which  appears  Hildebrand,  the  robber,  in  a  sky-blue  mantle.  The 
foliage  of  the  forest  is  of  a  dark-red  color,  which  makes  a  great 
mpression  on  the  spectators  and  prepares  them  for  the  bloody 
Bcenes  that  are  to  follow.  The  other  characters  are  a  brave 
knight  in  a  purple  dress,  with  his  servant  in  scarlet ,  they  ar< 
iibout  to  storm  the  robber's  hold  and  carry  off  a  captive  uiaidea 
Several  acts  are  filled  with  the  usual  amount  of  fighting  and  ter 


THE    INSIDE    OF    A    CALIFORN  A    THKATRK  27? 

lible  speeches  ;  but  the  interest  of  the  play  is  carried  to  an  awfxii 
height  by  the  appearance  of  two  spectres,  clad  in  mutilated  tent- 
eovers,  and  holding  spermaceti  candles  in  their  hands.  At  thif 
juncture  Mrs.  Ray  rushes  in  and  throws  herself  into  an  attitude  in 
the  middle  of  the  stage :  why  she  does  it,  no  one  can  tell.  Thia 
movement,  which  she  repeats  several  times  in  the  course  of  the 
first  three  acts,  has  no  connection  with  the  tragedy  ;  it  is  evidently 
introduced  for  the  purpose  of  showing  the  audience  that  there  is, 
actually,  a  female  performer.  The  miners,  to  whom  the  sight  of 
a  woman  is  not  a  frequent  occurrence,  are  delighted  with  these 
passages  and  applaud  vehemently. 

In  the  closing  scenes,  where  Hildebrand  entreats  the  heroine  to 
become  his  bride,  Mrs.  Ray  shone  in  all  her  glory.  "  No!"  said 
die,  "  I'd  rather  take  a  basilisk  and  wrap  its  cold  fangs  around  me, 
than  be  clasped  in  the  hembraces  of  an  'artless  robber."  Then, 
changing  her  tone  to  that  of  entreaty,  she  calls  upon  the  knight  in 
purple,  whom  she  declares  to  be  "  me  'ope — me  only  'ope  !"  Wc 
will  not  stay  to  hear  the  songs  and  duetts  which  follow ;  the 
tragedy  has  been  a  sufficient  infliction.  For  her  "  'art-rending" 
personations,  Mrs.  Ray  received  $200  a  week,  and  the  wages  of 
the  other  actors  were  in  the  same  proportion.  A  musical  gentle- 
man was  paid  $96  for  singing  "  The  Sea !  the  Sea !"  in  a  deep 
bass  voice.  The  usual  sum  paid  musicians  was  $16  a  night.  A 
Swiss  organ-girl,  by  playing  in  the  various  hells,  accumulated 
|4000  in  the  course  of  five  or  six  months. 

The  southern  part  of  Sacramento  City,  where  the  most  of  the 
jverland  emigrants  had  located  themselves,  was  an  interesting  place 
for  a  night-ramble,  when  one  had  courage  to  undertake  threading 
the  thickets  among  which  their  tents  were  pitched.  There,  on 
fallen  logs  about  their  camp-fires,  might  be  seen  groups  that  bad 


278  KLDOftADO. 

journoycd  together  across  the  Continent,  recalling  the  hardihipi 
and  perils  of  the  travel.  The  men,  with  their  long  bearda. 
weather-beaten  faces  and  ragged  garments,  seen  in  the  red,  flick- 
ering light  of  the  fires,  made  wild  and  fantastic  pictures.  Some^ 
times  four  of  them  might  be  seen  about  a  stump,  intent  on  re- 
viving their  ancient  knowledge  of  "  poker,"  and  occasionally  a 
more  social  group,  filling  their  tin  cups  from  a  kettle  of  tea  oi 
something  stronger.  Their  fires,  however,  were  soon  left  tc 
smoulder  away ;  the  evenings  were  too  raw  and  they  were  too 
weary  with  the  day's  troubles  to  keep  long  vigils. 

Often,  too,  without  playing  the  eavesdropper,  one  might  mingle 
unseen  with  a  great  many  of  their  companies  gathered  together 
inside  the  tents.  Tie  thin,  transparent  canvas  revealed  the  sha- 
dows of  their  forms,  and  was  no  impediment  to  the  sound  of  their 
voices  ;  besides,  as  they  generally  spoke  in  a  bold,  hearty  tone, 
every  word  could  be  overheard  at  twenty  yards'  distance.  Tho 
fragments  of  conversation  which  were  caught  in  walking  through 
this  part  of  the  city  made  a  strange  but  most  interesting  medley 
There  were  narratives  of  old  experience  on  the  Plains ,  notes 
about  the  passage  of  the  mountains  compared ;  reminiscences  of 
the  Salt  Lake  City  and  its  strange  enthusiasts ;  sufferings  at  the 
sink  of  Humboldt's  River  and  in  the  Salt  Desert  recalled,  and 
opinions  of  California  in  general,  given  in  a  general  manner 
The  conversation,  however,  was  sure  to  wind  up  with  a  talk 
about  home — a  lamentation  for  its  missed  comforts  and  frequently 
B  regret  at  having  forsaken  them.  The  subject  was  inexhaustible, 
and  when  once  they  commenced  calling  up  the  scenes  and  inci- 
dents of  their  life  in  the  Atlantic  or  Mississippi  world,  everything 
jlse  was  forgotten.  At  such  times,  and  hearing  snatches  of  *ho8« 
conversations,  I  too  was  carried  home  by  an  irresistible  longing 


«QUATTER8'  AIH)  GAMBLERS*  QUARRELS.        279 

and  went  back  to  my  blankets  and  dreams  of  grizzly  bear,  dis- 
couraged and  dissatisfied 

Before  I  left  the  place,  tbe  number  of  emigrants  settled  there 
for  the  winter  amounted  to  two  or  three  thousand.  They  wert 
all  located  on  the  vacant  lots,  which  had  been  surveyed  by  the 
original  owners  of  the  town  and  were  by  them  sold  to  others.  The 
emigrants,  who  supposed  that  the  land  belonged  of  right  to  the 
United  States,  boldly  declared  their  intention  of  retaining  pos 
session  of  it.  Each  man  voted  himself  a  lot,  defying  the  threatfi 
and  remonstrances  of  the  rightful  owners.  The  town  was  greatly 
agitated  for  a  time  by  these  disputes  ;  meetings  were  held  by  both 
parties,  and  the  spirit  of  hostility  ran  to  a  high  pitch.  At  the 
time  of  my  leaving  the  country,  the  matter  was  still  unsettled,  but 
the  flood  which  occm-red  soon  after,  by  sweeping  both  squattere 
and  speculators  off  the  ground,  balanced  accounts  for  awhile  and 
left  the  field  clear  for  a  new  start. 

In  the  gambling-hells,  under  the  excitement  of  liquor  and  play, 
a  fight  was  no  unusual  occurrence  More  than  once,  while  walk- 
ing in  the  streets  at  a  late  hour,  I  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol : 
once,  indeed,  I  came  near  witnessing  a  horrid  affray,  in  which  one 
of  the  parties  was  so  much  injured  that  he  lay  for  many  days  blind, 
and  at  the  point  of  death.  I  was  within  a  few  steps  of  the  door, 
and  heard  the  firing  in  time  to  retreat.  The  punishment  for  these 
quarrels,  when  inflicted — ^which  was  very  rarely  done — was  not  so 
prompt  and  terrible  as  for  theft ;  but,  to  give  the  gambling  com- 
munity their  due,  their  conduct  was  much  more  orderly  and  re- 
Bpectable  than  it  is  wont  to  be  in  other  countries.  This,  however 
was  not  so  much  a  merit  of  their  own  possessing,  as  the  effect  of  a 
strong  public  sentiment  in  favor  of  preserving  order. 

T  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  fate  of  my  old  gray  mare,  ifba 


280  lELDOKADd. 

w^ould  have  served  me  faithfully,  had  she  been  less  lazy  and  bettei 
provided  with  forage.  On  reaching  iSacramento  City  I  found  that 
Gren.  Morse  had  been  keeping  her  for  me  at  a  livery  stable,  at  a 
cost  of  $5  a  day.  She  looked  in  much  better  spirits  than  when  I 
saw  her  eating  pine-bark  on  the  Mokelumne,  and  in  riding  to  the 
town  of  Sutter,  I  found  that  by  a  little  spurring,  she  could  raise 
a  very  passable  gallop.  The  rains,  however,  by  putting  a  stop  to 
travel,  had  brought  down  the  price  of  horses,  so  that  after  search- 
ing some  time  for  a  purchaser  I  could  get  no  offer  higher  than 
^50.  I  consented  to  let  her  go  ;  we  went  into  a  store  and  weighed 
rat  the  price  in  fine  North  Fork  gold,  and  the  new  owner,  after 
trotting  her  through  the  streets  for  about  an  hour,  sold  he :  again 
lor  $60.     I  did  not  oare  to  trace  her  fortunes  liuther. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE  OTERLAND  EMIGRATION  OF   1849. 

Sacramento  City  was  the  goal  of  the  emigration  by  the  north- 
am  routes.  From  the  beginning  of  August  to  the  last  of  December 
scarcely  a  day  passed  without  the  arrival  of  some  man  or  company 
of  men  and  famihes,  from  the  mountains,  to  pitch  theii*  tents  for 
a  few  days  on  the  bank  of  the  river  and  rest  from  their  months  ol 
hardship.  The  vicissitudes  through  which  these  people  had  passed, 
the  perils  they  had  encountered  and  the  toils  they  had  endured 
seem  to  me  without  precedent  in  History.  The  story  of  thirty 
thousand  souls  accomplishing  a  journey  of  more  than  two  thousand 
miles  through  a  savage  and  but  partially  explored  wilderness, 
crossing  on  their  way  two  mountain  chains  equal  to  the  Alps  io 
height  and  asperity,  besides  broad  tracts  of  burning  desert,  and 
plains  of  nearly  equal  desolation,  where  a  few  patches  of  stunted 
drubs  and  springs  of  brackish  water  were  their  only  stay,  has  in 
it  so  much  of  heroism,  of  daring  and  of  sublime  endurance,  that 
Te  may  vainly  question  the  records  of  any  age  for  its  equal 
Standing  as  I  was,  at  the  closing  stage  of  that  grand  pilgrimage, 
the  sight  of  these  adventurers  as  they  came  in  day  by  day,  and  th« 
hearing  of  their  stories,  each  of  which  had  its  own  peculiar  and 
separate  character,  had  a  more  fascinating  because  more  real  in- 
terest than  the  tales  of  the  glorious  old  travelers  which  so  impr^^s 
js  in  childhood 


2b2  ELDORADO 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give,  in  a  general  description  of  tha 
emigration,  viewed  as  one  great  movement,  a  complete  idea  of  its 
many  wonderful  phases.  The  experience  of  any  single  man,  which 
a  few  years  ago  would  have  made  him  a  hero  for  life,  becomes 
mere  common-place,  when  it  is  but  one  of  many  thousands ;  yet 
the  spectacle  of  a  great  continent,  through  a  region  of  one  thou  • 
sand  miles  from  north  to  south,  being  overrun  with  these  adven- 
turous bands,  cannot  be  pictured  without  the  relation  of  many 
episodes  of  individual  bravery  and  suffering.  I  wUl  not  attempt  a 
full  account  of  the  emigration,  but,  as  I  have  already  given  an 
outline  of  the  stories  of  those  who  came  by  the  Gila  route,  a  simi- 
lar sketch  of  what  those  encountered  who  took  the  Northern  rouie 
— the  great  overland  highway  of  the  Continent — ^wUl  not  be  withouJ 
its  interest  in  this  place. 

The  great  starting  point  for  this  route  was  Independence,  Mo  , 
where  thousands  were  encamped  through  the  month  of  Apriij 
waiting  until  the  grass  should  be  sufficiently  high  for  their  cattle, 
before  they  ventured  on  the  broad  ocean  of  the  Plains.  From  the 
first  of  May  to  the  first  of  June,  company  after  company  took  its 
departure  from  the  frontier  of  civilization,  till  the  emigrant  trail 
from  Fort  Leavenworth,  on  the  Missouri,  to  Fort  Laramie,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Kocky  Mountains,  was  one  long  line  of  mule-trains  and 
wagons.  The  rich  meadows  of  the  Nebraska,  or  Platte,  were 
Bettled  for  the  time,  and  a  single  traveler  could  have  journeyed  for 
the  space  of  a  thousand  miles,  as  certain  of  his  lodging  and  regular 
meals  as  if  he  were  riding  through  the  old  agricultural  districts  oi 
ihe  Middle  States.  The  wandering  tribes  of  Indians  on  the  Plains 
— tho  Pawnees,  Sioux  and  Arapahoes — ^were  alarmed  and  bewil- 
dered by  this  strange  apparition.  They  believed  they  were  about 
^0  be  swept  away  forever  from  their  himting-groirnds  and  graves 


TUB    CHOLERA    OiX    TttE    PLAINS.  288 

AlS  the  season  advanced  and  the  great  bodj  of  the  emigrants  gol 
under  way,  they  gradually  withdrc  >v  from  the  %  Icinlty  of  the  tnul 
and  betook  themselves  to  grounds  which  the  former  did  not  reach 
All  conflicts  with  them  were  thiP  avoided,  and  the  emigrant* 
passed  the  Plains  with  perfect  immunity  from  their  thievish  and 
hostile  visitations. 

Another  and  more  terrible  scourge,  however,  was  doomed  to  fell 
upon  them.  The  cholera,  ascending  the  Mississippi  from  Neu 
Orleans,  reached  St.  Louis  about  the  time  of  their  departure  from 
Independence,  and  overtook  them  before  they  were  feirly  embarked 
on  the  wUdemess  The  frequent  rains  of  the  early  spring,  added 
to  the  hardship  and  exposure  of  their  travel,  prepared  the  way  for 
its  ravages,  and  the  first  three  or  four  hundred  mUes  of  the  trail 
were  marked  by  graves.  It  is  estimated  that  about  four  thonsaxK 
persons  perished  from  this  cause.  Men  were  seized  witlout  warn 
ing  with  the  most  violent  symptoms,  and  instances  occurred  ii 
which  the  sufferer  was  left  to  die  alone  by  the  road-side,  while  hi 
panic-stricken  companions  pushed  forward,  vainly  trusting  to  get 
beyond  the  influence  of  the  epidemic.  Rough  boards  were  planteo 
at  the  graves  of  those  who  were  buried  near  the  trail,  but  there 
a  e  hundreds  of  others  lying  unmarked  by  any  memorial,  on  the 
bleak  surface  of  the  open  plain  and  among  the  barren  depths  of  the 
mountains.  I  have  heard  men  tell  how  they  have  gone  aside  from 
theii  company  to  bury  some  old  and  cherished  friend — a  brother, 
t  niay  often  have  been — performing  the  last  ntes  alone  and  un 
aided,  and  leaving  the  remains  where  none  but  the  wolf  will  evei 
seek  their  resting-place. 

By  the  time  the  companies  reached  Fort  Laramie  the  epidemio 
had  expended  its  violence,  and  in  the  pure  air  of  the  elevated 
giountain  region  they  were  safe  from  its  further  attacks.     Now 


2^  BLDORAbtt 

however,  the  r'^.al  hardships  of  their  journey  began.  Dp  lud  down 
the  mountains  that  hem  in  the  Sweetwater  Valley — over  the  spurs 
of  the  Wind  River  chain — through  the  Devil's  Gate,  and  past  thr 
stapendous  mass  of  Rock  Independence — they  toiled  slowly  up  to 
the  South  Pass,  descended  to  tlie  tributaries  of  the  Colorado  and 
plunged  into  the  rugged  defiles  of  the  Timpanozu  Mountains. 
Here  the  pasturage  became  scarce  atd  the  companies  were  oblige*^ 
to  take  separate  trails  in  order  to  ^nd  sufficient  grf  L  3  for  then 
teams.  Many,  who,  in  their  anxiety  to  get  forward  with  speed, 
had  thrown  away  a  great  part  of  the  supplies  that  encumberei 
them,  now  began  to  want,  and  were  frequently  reduced,  in  their 
Becessity,  to  make  use  of  their  mulea  and  horses  for  food.  It  was 
not  Tmusual  for  a  mess,  by  way  of  variety  to  the  tough  niule-meat^ 
to  kill  a  quantity  of  rattle-snakes,  with  which  the  mountains 
abounded,  and  have  a  dish  of  them  fried,  for  supper.  The  distress 
of  many  of  the  emigrants  might  have  been  entirely  avoided,  had 
they  possessed  any  correct  idea,  at  the  outset  of  the  journey,  of  its 
length  and  privations. 

It  must  have  been  a  remarkable  scene,  which  the  City  of  the 
Great  Salt  Lake  presented  during  the  summer.  There,  a  com- 
munity of  religious  enthusiasts,  numbering  about  ten  thousand, 
had  established  themselves  beside  an  inland  sea,  in  a  grand 
valley  shut  in  by  snow-capped  mountains,  a  thousand  miles  from 
any  other  civilized  spot,  and  were  dreaming  of  rebuilding  the 
Temple  and  creating  a  New  Jerusalem.  Without  this  resting 
place  in  mid-journey,  the  sufferings  of  the  emigrants  must  have 
been  much  aggravated.  The  Mormons,  however,  whose  rich 
ep-ain-lands  in  the  Valley  of  the  Utah  River  had  produced  them 
%bundance  of  supplies,  were  able  to  spare  sufficient  for  thcf:!  whose 
»tock  was  exhausted.     Two  or  three  thousand,  who  arrived  late  ic 


TBe   EMIGRANTS    IN    THE    GREAT    BA8IH  286 

tbs  seaaon,  remained  in  the  Valley  all  winter,  fearing  to  undertake 
the  toilsome  journey  which  still  remained 

Those  who  set  out  for  California  had  the  worst  yet  in  store  foi 
fcfaem.  Crossing  the  alternate  sandy  wastes  and  nigged  mountain 
3hains  of  the  Great  Basin  to  the  Valley  of  Humboldt's  Eiver,  they 
were  obliged  to  trust  entirely  to  their  worn  and  weary  animals  for 
reaching  the  Sierra  Nevada  before  the  winter  snows.  The  grass 
was  scarce  and  now  fast  drying  up  in  the  scorching  heat  of  mid- 
summer, lu  the  endeavor  to  hasten  forward  and  get  the  first 
jhance  of  pasture,  many  again  committed  the  same  mistake  of 
throwing  away  their  supplies.  I  was  told  of  one  man,  who,  with  a 
refinement  of  malice  and  cruelty  which  it  would  be  impossible  to 
iuipass,  set  fire  to  the  meadows  of  dry  grass,  for  the  sole  purpose, 
it  was  supposed,  of  retarding  the  progress  of  those  who  were  be 
hind  and  might  else  overtake  him.  A  company  of  the  emigrants 
on  the  best  horses  which  were  to  be  obtained,  pursued  him  and 
shot  him  from  the  saddle  as  he  rode — a  fate  scarcely  equal  to  hit 
deserts. 

The  progress  of  the  emigrants  along  the  Valley  of  Humboldt's 
River  is  described  as  having  been  slow  and  toilsome  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  River,  which  lies  entirely  within  the  Great  Basin, — 
whose  waters,  like  those  of  the  uplands  of  Central  Asia,  have  no 
connexion  with  the  sea — shrinks  away  towards  the  end  of  summer, 
and  finally  loses  itself  in  the  sand,  at  a  place  called  the  Sink 
Here,  the  single  trail  across  the  Basin  divides  into  three  branches 
and  the  emigrants,  leaving  the  scanty  meadows  about  the  Sink 
hive  before  them  an  arid  desert,  varying  from  fifty  to  eighty  miles 
in  breadth,  according  to  the  route  which  they  take.  Many  com- 
panies, on  arriving  at  this  place,  were  obliged  to  stop  and  recruit 
Jieir  exhausted  animals,  though  exposed  to  the  danger  jf  boinij 


286  ELDOPADO. 

detained  there  the  whole  winter,  from  the  fall  of  sncw  on  the 
Sierra  Nevada.  Another,  and  very  large  body  of  tl.em,  took  the 
upper  route  to  Lawson's  Pass,  which  leads  to  the  head  of  the 
Sacramento  Valley  ;  but  the  greater  part,  fortunately,  chose  the 
old  traveled  trails,  leading  to  Bear  Creek  and  the  Yuba,  by  way  of 
Truckee  River,  and  to  the  head-waters  of  the  Rio  Americano  bj 
way  of  Carson's  River. 

The  two  latter  routes  are  the  shortest  and  best.  After  leaving 
the  Sink  of  Humboldt's  River,  and  crossing  a  desert  of  about  fifty 
miles  in  breadth,  the  emigrant  reaches  the  streams  which  are  fed 
from  the  Sierra  Nevada,  where  he  finds  good  grass  and  plenty  of 
game.  The  passes  are  described  as  terribly  rugged  and  precipitous, 
leading  directly  up  the  face  of  the  great  snowy  ridge.  As,  how- 
ever, they  are  not  quite  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  are 
reached  from  a  plateau  of  more  than  four  thousand  feet,  the  ascent 
is  comparatively  short ;  while,  on  the  western  side,  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  of  mountain  country  must  be  passed,  before  reach- 
ing the  level  of  the  Sacramento  Valley.  There  are  fi^uent 
passes  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  which  were  never  crossed  before  the 
summer  of  1849.  Some  of  the  emigrants,  diverging  from  the 
known  trail,  sought  a  road  for  themselves,  and  found  their  way 
down  from  the  snows  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Tuolumne,  the 
Calaveras  and  Feather  River.  The  eastern  slope  of  the  Sierra 
Vevada  is  but  imperfectly  explored.  All  the  emigrants  concurred 
n  representing  it  to  me  as  an  abrupt  and  broken  region,  the 
higher  peaks  of  barren  granite,  the  valleys  deep  and  narrow,  yet 
in  many  places  timbered  with  pine  and  cedar  of  immense  growth. 

After  passing  the  dividing  ridge, — the  descent  from  which  wai 
rendered  almost  impossible  by  precipices  and  steeps  of  na]:ed  rock 
-  about  thirty  miles  of  alternate  caftons  and  divides  lay  between 


I  HE    DESCENT    OK    THE    MOUNTAINS.  287 

the  emigrants  and  the  nearest  diggings.  The  steepness  of  the 
slopes  of  this  range  is  hardly  equalled  by  {.ny  other  mountains  in 
the  world.  The  rivers  seem  to  wind  their  way  through  the  bot- 
toms of  chasms,  and  in  many  places  it  is  impossible  to  get  <i3WD 
to  the  water  Th^  word  canon  (meaning,  in  Spanish,  a  funnel,; 
h&a  a  peculiar  adaptation  to  these  cleft  chanuels  through  which  the 
rivers  are  poured.  In  getting  down  from  the  summit  ridge  the 
emigrants  told  me  they  were  frequently  obliged  to  take  the  oxen 
from  the  wagon  and  lower  it  with  ropes  ;  but  for  the  8h*'->r  descents 
which  followed,  another  plan  was  adopted.  The  wh<»els  were  aU 
locked,  and  only  one  yoke  of  oxen  left  in  front ;  a  middling- 
sized  pine  was  then  cut  down,  and  the  butt  fastened  to  the 
axle-tree,  the  branchy  top  dragging  on  the  earth.  The  holding 
back  of  the  oxen,  the  sliding  of  the  locked  wheels,  and  the  resist 
ance  of  the  tree  together  formed  an  opposing  power  sufficient  to 
admit  of  a  slow  descent ;  but  it  was  necessary  to  observe  great  cart 
lest  the  pace  should  be  quickened,  for  the  slightest  start  would 
ha'^e  overcome  the  resistance  and  given  oxen,  wagon  and  tree  to- 
gether a  momentum  that  would  have  landed  them  at  the  bottom  ip 
a  very  different  condition. 

In  August,  before  his  departure  for  Oregon,  Gen.  Smith  took 
the  responsibility  of  ordering  pack-mules  and  supplies  to  be  pro- 
yided  at  the  expense  of  Government,  and  gave  Major  Rucker 
orders  to  dispatch  relief  companies  into  the  Great  Ba.sin  to  succor 
the  emigrants  who  might  be  remaining  there,  for  want  of  pro- 
nsions  to  advance  further.  In  this  step  he  was  also  warmly 
seconded  by  Gen.  Riley,  and  the  preparations  were  made  with  the 
.east  possible  delay.  Public  meetings  of  the  citizens  of  San  Fran 
eisco  were  also  held,  to  contribute  means  of  relief.  Major  Ruckei 
dispatched  a  party  with  supplies  and  fresh  animals  by  way  of  tbe 


28d 


ELDORADO. 


Trucigo  River  route  to  the  Sink  of  Humboldt's  River,  while  at 
took  the  expedition  tc  Pitt  River  and  Lawson's  Pass,  under  hk 
own  command.  The  first  party,  after  furnishing  provisions  on 
the  road  to  all  whoTti  ^ney  found  in  need,  reached  the  Sink,  and 
started  the  families  >vbo  Wt'ie  s»^^ill  encamped  th<^re,  returning  with 
them  by  the  Carson  River  route  and  Dringmg  in  the  last  of  the 
emigration,  only  a  day  or  two  before  the  heavy  snows  came  on, 
which  eotirelj  blocked  up  the  parses  But  for  this  most  timely 
aid,  hundreds  of  persons  must  Lav*  perished  by  famine  and  cold 

Those  who  took  the  trail  for  Lawson's  Pass  fared  even  worse 
They  had  been  grossly  deceived  with  regard  to  the  route,  which, 
instead  of  being  a  nearer  passage  into  California,  is  actually  two 
hundred  miles  longer  than  the  other  routes,  and  though  there  is  no 
ridge  of  equal  height  to  be  crossed,  the  amount  of  rough  mountain 
travel  is  even  greater.  The  trail,  after  crossing  the  Sierra  by  a 
low  gap,  (which  has  lately  been  mentioned  in  connection  with  the 
Pacific  Railroad,)  enters  the  Valley  of  Pitt  River,  one  of  the 
tributaries  of  the  Upper  Sacramento.  Following  the  course  of 
this  river  for  about  ninety  miles,  it  reaches  a  spur  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  which  runs  from  the  head  waters  of  Feather  River  to 
near  the  Shaste  Peak,  closing  up  the  level  of  the  lower  Sacramento 
Valley.  These  mountains  are  from  five  to  six  thousand  feet  in 
height  and  rugged  in  the  extreme,  and  over  them  the  weary  emu 
grant  must  pass  before  the  Land  of  Promise — the  rich  Valley  of 
the  Sacramento — ^meets  his  view. 

At  the  time  1  returned  to  Sacramento  City,  Major  Rucker  had 
fust  returned  'rom  his  expedition.  He  found  a  large  body  of 
emigrants  scattered  along  Pitt  River,  many  of  then  entire!} 
destitute  of  provisions  and  others  without  their  animals,  whiol 
the  predatory  Indians  of  that  region  had  stolen.     Owing  to  thfl 


APATHY    IN    PERIL.  289 

large  number  who  required  his  assistance,  he  was  obliged  to  re- 
turn to  the  ranches  on  Deer  Creek  and  procure  further  supplies, 
leaving  Mr  Peoples  to  hurry  them  on  meanwhile.  Everything 
was  done  to  hasten  their  movement,  but  a  strange  and  unaecount- 
ble  apathy  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  them.  The  sea 
•on  was  late,  and  a  single  day  added  to  the  time  requisite  to  gel 
them  into  the  Sacramento  Valley  might  prove  ruinous  to  them 
and  their  assistants  Whether  the  weary  six  months  they  passed 
in  the  wilderness  had  had  the  effect  of  destroying  all  their  active 
energy  and  care  for  their  own  safety,  or  whether  it  was  actual 
ignorance  of  their  true  situation  and  contempt  of  counsel  because 
it  seemed  to  wear  the  shape  of  authority,  it  is  difficult  to  tell — but 
the  effect  was  equally  dangerous.  After  having  improvidently 
thrown  away,  in  the  first  part  of  the  journey,  the  supplies  so  need- 
ful afterwards,  they  now  held  fast  to  useless  goods,  and  refused  to 
lighten  the  loads  of  their  tired  oxen.  But  few  of  them  appeared 
to  have  a  sense  of  the  aid  which  was  rendered  them ;  instead 
of  willingly  cooperating  with  those  who  had  charge  of  the  relief 
party,  they  gave  much  unnecessary  trouble  and  delayed  the  jour 
ney  several  days. 

Of  the  companies  which  came  by  this  route  several  small  parties . 
struck  into  the  mountains  to  the  southward  of  Pitt  River,  hoping 
to  find  an  easy  road  to  the  diggings  on  Feather  River.  Of  these, 
*)me  reached  the  river,  after  many  days  of  suffering  and  danger ; 
others  retraced  their  steps  and  by  making  desperate  efforts  re- 
gained the  companies  on  Pitt  River,  while  some,  who  had  not 
been  heard  of  at  the  time  I  left,  were  either  locked  up  for  the 
innter  in  the  midst  of  terrible  snows,  oi  had  already  perished  fi-om 
hunger,  f  met  with  one  or  two  who  had  been  several  days  in  the 
■nountains  without  food,  and  only  escaped  death  by  a  miracle.    A 


290  ELDOKADO. 

company  of  six,  who  set  out  on  the  hunt  of  some  Indians  who  bad 
stolen  their  cattle,  never  returned. 

It  happened  to  the  emigrants  as  Major  Rucker  had  forewarned 
them .  A  letter  from  Mr.  Peoples,  which  he  received  during  my 
stay  gave  a  most  striking  account  of  the  hardships  to  which  they 
had  subjected  themselves.  A  violent  storm  came  on  while  they 
were  crossing  the  mountains  to  Deer  Creek,  and  the  mules,  unac- 
customed to  the  severe  cold,  sank  down  and  died  one  after  another. 
In  spite  of  their  remonstrances,  Mr.  Peoples  obliged  them  to  leave 
their  wagons  and  hurry  forward  with  the  remaining  animals.  The 
women,  who  seemed  to  have  far  more  energy  and  endurance  than 
the  men,  were  mounted  on  mules,  and  the  whole  party  pushed  on 
tliTOugh  the  bleak  passes  of  the  mountains  in  the  face  of  a  raging 
storm.  By  extraordinary  exertions,  they  were  all  finally  brought 
into  the  Sacramento  Valley,  with  the  loss  of  many  wagons  and 
animals.  On  receiving  this  letter,  Major  Rucker  set  out  for  Law 
son's  Ranche  on  Deer  Creek,  where  he  saw  the  emigrants  com- 
fortably established  for  the  winter.  They  had  erected  log-houses 
for  shelter  ;  the  flour  supplied  to  them  from  the  Government  stores 
and  cattle  from  the  large  herds  on  the  neighboring  ranches,  fur 
nished  them  with  the  means  of  subsistence.  The  return  to  Sac- 
ramento City,  in  the  depth  of  the  rainy  season,  was  an  almost  im 
possible  undertaking. 

The  greater  part  of  those  who  came  in  by  the  lower  routes, 
started,  after  a  season  of  rest,  for  the  mining  region,  where  many 
of  them  arrived  in  time  to  build  themselves  log  huts  for  the  winter 
Some  pitched  their  tents  along  the  river,  to  wait  for  the  genial 
spring  season ;  while  not  a  few  took  their  axes  and  commenced 
the  business  of  wood-cutting  in  the  timber  on  its  banks.  Whea 
shipped  to  San  Francisco,  the  wood,  which  they  took  with  th« 


CLOSE    OF    THE    EMIGRATION.  291 

osttal  freedom  of  Uncle  Sam's  nephews,  brought  $40  a  cord  ;  the 
Bteamboats  which  called  for  it  on  their  trips  up  and  down,  paid 
$15.  By  the  end  of  December  the  last  man  of  the  overland  com* 
panics  was  safe  on  the  western  side  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the 
great  interior  wilderness  resumed  its  ancient  silence  and  solitudn 
QDtil  the  next  spring. 


CHAPTER  XXVllL 

THE    ITALY    OF    THE    WEBT 

At  the  end  of  a  week  of  rain,  during  which  we  hsui  a  few  de- 
oeptivc  gleams  of  clear  weather,  I  gave  up  all  hope  of  getting  to 
Qxe  Yuba  and  Feather  Rivers,  and  took  my  passage  in  the  steamei 
Senator,  for  San  Francisco.  The  time  for  leaving  was  before  sun- 
rise, and  the  loud  ringing  of  the  first  bell  awoke  me  as  I  lay  on  mi 
Chinese  quilt  in  Capt.  Baker's  store.  The  weather  had  changed 
during  the  night,  and  when  I  went  out  of  doors  I  found  a  keen, 
cloudless  dawn,  with  the  wind  blowing  down  the  river.  Had  the 
three  weeks  of  dry  season,  so  confidently  predicted  by  the  old  setr 
ders,  actually  commenced  ?  I  was  not  long  in  deliberating,  though 
the  remote  chance  of  an  opportunity  for  making  my  journey  to  the 
Shaste  Peak,  tempted  me  sorely ;  but  the  end  proved  that  I  de- 
cided aright,  for  on  the  second  day  after  my  arrival  at  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  rains  set  in  again  worse  than  ever. 

The  steamer,  which  formerly  ran  between  Boston  and  Eastport, 
wus  a  strong,  spacious  and  elegant  boat.  Notwithstanding  the 
fiu*e  to  San  Francisco  was  $30,  she  i-arely  carried  less  than  two 
hundred  passengers.  When  I  went  on  board,  her  decks  were  al- 
ready filled,  and  people  were  hurrying  down  from  all  parts  of  the 
towDf  her  bell  tolling  meanwhile  with  the  quick,  incessant  strdki 


STEAM    ON    THE    SACRAMENTO.  29S 

)f  a  H  iidson  River  boat,  one  minute  before  the  time  of  starting. 
After  my  recent  barbaric  life,  her  long  upper  saloon,  with  its  sofas 
and  faded  carpet,  seemed  splendid  enough  for  a  palace.  As  \re 
sped  down  the  Sacramento,  and  the  well-known  bell  and  sable 
herald  made  their  appearance,  requesting  passengers  to  step  to  the 
Captain's  office,  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  I  was  in  California 
On  the  hurricane  deck  I  met  with  several  persons  who  had  been 
fellow-passengers  on  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific.  Some  had  been  to 
the  head  of  the  Sacramento  Valley;  some  on  Feather  River; 
some  again  on  the  famous  Trinity,  where  they  had  got  more  fevei 
than  gold  ;  but  all,  though  not  alike  successful,  seemed  energeti* 
and  far  from  being  discouraged. 

After  passing  the  town  of  Sutter,  the  bell  rang  for  breakfest. 
and  having  previously  procured  a  ticket  for  two  dollars,  I  joined 
the  anxious  throng  who  were  pressing  down  the  cabin  stairs.  The 
long  tables  were  set  below  in  the  same  style  as  at  home ;  the  fare 
was  abundant  and  well  prepared  ;  even  on  the  Hudson  it  would 
have  given  rise  to  tew  grumblings.  We  steamed  rapidly  down 
the  river,  with  Monte  Diablo  far  before  us.  Owing  to  the  twists 
and  turns  of  the  stream,  it  was  but  an  uncertain  landmark,  now 
appearing  on  one  side  and  now  on  the  other.  The  cold  snows  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada  were  faintly  seen  in  the  eastern  sky,  but  between 
the  Sacramento  and  the  mountains,  the  great  plain  stretched  oui 
in  a  sweep  which  to  the  north  and  south  ran  unbroken  to  the 
horizon.  The  banks,  stripped  now  of  their  summer  foliage,  would 
have  been  dreary  and  monotonous,  but  for  the  tents  and  log-houses 
of  the  settlers  and  wood-cutters.  I  noticed  in  little  spots  where 
the  thicket  had  been  cleared  away,  patches  of  cabbages  aad  other 
aardy  vegetables,  which  seemed  to  have  a  thrifty  growth. 

We  came  at  last  to  the  entrance  of  the  slough,  the  navigatioi» 


29€  ELDORADO 

Df  which  was  a  matter  of  considerable  nicety.  The  current  wu 
but  a  few  feet  wider  than  the  steamer,  and  uany  of  the  benda 
occasioned  her  considerable  trouble.  Her  bow  sometimes  ran  iP 
among  the  boughs  of  the  ti  3es,  where  she  could  not  well  be 
backed  without  her  stern  goiug  into  the  opposite  bank.  Much 
time  and  part  of  the  planking  of  her  wheel-houses  were  lost  in 
getting  through  these  narrow  straits.  The  small  craft  on  their 
way  up  the  river  were  obliged  to  run  close  under  the  limbs  of  the 
trees  and  hug  the  banks  tightly  until  we  had  passed.  At  last  we 
lame  out  again  in  the  real  Sacramento,  avoiding  the  numerous 
>ther  sloughs  which  make  off  into  the  tule  marshes,  and  soon 
reached  the  city  of  Montezuma,  a  solitary  house  on  a  sort  of  head 
(and  projecting  into  Suisun  Bay  and  fronting  its  rival  three-houSij 
ttty,  New-York-of-the-Pacific  The  bay  was  dancing  to  the  fresh 
northern  breeze  as  we  skimmed  its  waters,  towards  Benicia;  Monto 
Diablo,  on  the  other  side,  wore  a  blue  mist  over  his  scarred  and 
A>cky  surface,  which  looked  deceptively  near. 

The  three  weeks  of  rain  which  had  fallen  since  I  passed  up  the 
bay,  had  brought  out  a  vivid  green  over  all  the  bills.  Those  along 
tibe  Mrater  were  no  longer  lifeless  and  barren,  but  covered  with 
iprouting  vegetation.  Benicia,  as  we  approached,  it,  appeared 
like  a  child's  toy  town  set  out  on  a  piece  of  green  velvet.  Con- 
trasted with  this  gay  color,  the  changeless  hue  of  the  evergreen 
oaks  appeared  sombre  almost  to  blackness  ;  seen  in  unison  with 
a  cloudless  sky  and  the  glittering  blue  of  the  bay,  the  effect 
of  the  fresh  green  was  indescribably  cheerful  and  inspiring 
We  touched  but  a  few  minutes  at  Benicia,  whose  street 
presented  a  quiet  appearance,  coming  from  the  thronged  avenuei 
of  Sacramento  City.  The  houses  were  mostly  frame,  of  neat 
construction ;  a  church  with  a  small  white  spire,  at  the  upper 


THE    SUNSETS    OF   CALIFORNIA.  295 

end  of  the  town,  stood  out  brightly  against  the  green  of  the  hills 
behind. 

Beyond  these  hills,  at  the  distance  of  thu-ty-five  miles,  is  the 
pleasant  little  town  of  Sonoma,  Gen.  Vallejo's  residence.  In 
summer  it  is  reached  from  Sacramento  City  by  a  trail  of  forty 
miles,  but  when  the  rains  come  on,  the  tule  marshes  running  up 
from  the  bay  between  the  river  and  the  mountains,  are  flooded, 
and  a  circuit  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles  must  be  made  to  get 
Bi'ound  them.  Two  days'  journey  north  of  Sonoma  is  Lake  Clear, 
1  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  sixty  miles  in  length,  embosomed  in  the 
diidst  of  grand  mountain  scenery. 

Sunset  came  on  as  we  approached  the  strait  opening  from  Pablo 
Bay  into  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco.  The  cloudless  sky  became 
^adually  suffused  with  a  soft  rose-tint,  which  covered  its  whDle  sur- 
fe,ce,  painting  alike  the  glassy  sheet  of  the  bay,  -and  glowing  most 
nvidly  on  the  mountains  to  the  eastward.  The  color  deepened 
•ivery  moment,  and  the  peaks  of  the  Coast  Range  burned  with  a 
lich  vermilion  light,  like  that  of  a  live  coal.  This  faded  gradually 
nto  as  glowing  a  purple,  and  at  last  into  a  blue  as  intense  as  that 
')f  the  sea  at  noonday.  The  first  effect  of  the  light  was  most 
jfonderful ;  the  mountains  stretched  around  the  horizon  like  a 
belt  of  varying  fire  and  amethyst  between  the  two  roseate  deeps 
of  air  and  water  ;  the  shores  were  transmuted  into  solid,  the  air 
into  fluid  gems.  Could  the  pencil  faithfully  represent  this  mag- 
nificent transfiguration  of  Nature,  it  would  appear  utterly  unreal 
and  impossible  to  eyes  which  never  beheld  the  leality.  It  was  no 
transient  spectacle,  fading  away  ere  one  could  feel  its  surpassing 
glory.  It  lingered,  and  lingered,  changing  almost  imperceptibly 
and  with  so  beautiful  a  decay,  that  one  lost  himself  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  each  successive  charm,  without  regret  for  those  which 


296  ELDORADO.  ' 

wore  over.  The  dark  blue  of  the  mountains  deepened  into  flii»ii 
night-garb  of  dusky  shadow  without  any  interfusion  of  dead  ashj 
color,  and  the  heaven  overhead  was  spangled  with  all  its  stars  long 
before  the  brilliant  arch  of  orange  in  the  west  had  sunk  below  th« 
horizon.  I  have  seen  the  dazzling  sunsets  of  the  Mediterranean 
flush  the  beauty  of  its  shores,  and  the  mellow  skies  which  Claude 
used  to  contemplate  from  the  Pincian  Hill ;  but,  lovely  as  they 
are  in  my  memory,  they  seem  cold  and  pale  when  I  think  of  the 
splendor  of  such  a  scene,  on  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco. 

The  approach  to  the  city  was  very  imposing  in  the  dusk.  The 
crowd  of  shipping,  two  or  three  miles  in  length,  stretched  along 
the  water  in  front ;  the  triple  crown  of  the  hills  behind  was  clearly 
marked  against  the  sky,  and  from  the  broad  space  covered  with 
•sparkling  lights,  glimmerings  of  tents  and  white  buildings,  and 
the  sounds  of  active  life,  I  half  believed  that  some  metropolis  of  a 
century's  growth  lay  before  me.  On  landing,  notwithstanding  I 
had  only  been  absent  three  weeks,  I  had  some  difficulty  in  recog- 
nizing localities.  The  change  appeared  greater  than  at  any  pre- 
vious arrival,  on  account  of  the  removal  of  a  great  many  of  the 
old  buUdings  and  the  erection  of  larger  and  more  substantial  edi- 
fices in  their  stead. 

After  a  few  days  of  violent  rain,  the  sky  cleared  and  we  had  a 
week  of  the  most  delicious  weather  I  ever  experienced.  The  tern- 
perature  was  at  no  time  lower  than  50°,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  rose  to  70°.  When  the  floating  gauze  of  mist  had  cleared  ofl 
the  water,  the  sky  was  without  a  cloud  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day,  and  of  a  fresh  tender  blue,  which  was  in  exquisite  relief  to 
the  pa'e  green  of  the  hills.  To  enjoy  the  delighful  temperature 
and  fine  scenery  of  the  Bay,  I  used  frequently  to  climb  a  hill  jusi 
in  the  rear  of  the  town,  whence  the  harbor,  the  strait  into  Pabl*' 


A    COMPANY    CF    WASHMUr.  29t 

Bay,  the  Golden  Gate  and  the  horizon  of  the  Pacific  30uld  all  be 
seen  at  one  view.  On  the  top  of  the  hill  are  the  ^ves  of  several 
Russians,  who  came  out  in  the  service  of  the  Russian  Company, 
each  surmounted  with  a  black  cross,  bearing  an  inscription  in  theii 
language.  All  this  ground,  however,  has  been  surveyed,  staked 
bto  lots  and  sold,  and  at  the  same  rate  of  growth  the  city  will  not 
be  long  in  climbing  the  hill  and  disturbmg  the  rest  of  the  Masco- 
vites. 

In  company  with  my  friends,  the  Moores,  I  made  many  short 
excursions  among  the  hills,  during  this  charming  season.  Our 
most  frequent  trip  was  to  Fresh  Pond,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
old  Presidio.  With  a  gray  donkey — an  invaluable  beast,  by  the 
way — harnessed  to  a  light  cart,  in  which  we  had  placed  two  or 
three  empty  barrels,  we  drove  out  to  the  place,  a  little  basin  shul 
in  by  the  hills,  and  only  divided  by  a  narrow  bushy  ridge  from  tiif 
waters  of  the  Golden  Gate.  Several  tents  were  pitched  on  itt 
margin  ;  the  washmen  and  gardeners  had  established  themselvea 
there  and  were  diligently  pljnng  their  respective  occupations.  A 
little  strip  of  moist  bottom  adjoining  the  pond  had  been  cleared  oi 
its  thickets  and  was  partly  ploughed,  showing  a  rich  black  loam. 
The  washerwomen,  of  whom  there  were  a  few,  principally  Mezicanf 
and  Indians,  had  established  themselves  on  one  side  of  the  pond 
and  the  washmen  on  another.  The  latter  went  into  the  business 
on  a  large  scale,  having  their  tents  for  ironing,  their  large  kettles 
for  boiling  the  clothes  and  their  fluted  wash-boards  along  the  edga 
of  the  water.  It  was  an  amusing  sight  to  see  a  great,  burly,  long- 
bearded  fellow,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  to 
the  elbows,  and  rubbing  a  shirt  on  the  board  with  such  violence 
that  the  suds  flew  and  the  buttons,  if  there  were  any,  must  soon 
*nap  oflf      Their  clear-starching  an*,  ironing  were  still  more  ludi- 


298  ELDORADO. 

orous  ,  but,  notwithstanding,  they  succeeded  fully  as  well  a&  the 
women,  and  were  rapidly  growing  rich  from  the  profits  of  theii 
business.  Where  $8  a  dozen  is  paid  for  washing  clothes,  it  ii 
rery  easy  to  earn  double  the  wages  of  a  IMember  of  Congress 

The  sunsets  we  saw  from  the  hills  as  we  drove  slowly  hack  with 
the  barrels  filled,  were  aU  of  the  •  same  gorgeous  character.  Tho 
air  had  a  purity  and  sweetness  which  made  the  long  hour  of  twi- 
light enchanting,  and  we  frequently  lingered  on  the  road  till  after 
dark.  We  helped  our  patient  donkey  up  the  hUl  by  pushing  be- 
hind his  cart — an  aid  he  seemed  fuUy  to  appreciate,  for  he  pulled 
it  such  times  with  much  more  spirit.  He  had  many  curious  wayg 
ibout  him,  the  most  remarkable  of  which  was  his  capacity  for  di- 
gestion. Cloth,  canvas  and  shavings  seemed  as  much  his  natural 
food  as  hay  or  green  grass.  Whenever  he  broke  loose  during  the 
aight,  which  was  not  seldom,  it  was  generally  followed  in  the 
•ttorning  by  a  visit  from  some  emigrant,  claiming  damages  for  tho 
*mount  of  tent-covering  which  had  been  chewed  up.  Once,  in- 
leed,  a  man  who  had  indulged  rather  freely  in  bad  brandy,  at 
iwenty-five  cents  a  glass,  wandered  in  the  dark  to  the  place  where 
'he  donkey  was  tethered,  lay  down  at  his  feet  and  fell  aslct^p 
When  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  sobered  by  the  coolness  of  his 
bed  and  foggy  blankets,  he  found  to  his  utter  surprise  and  horror, 
that  the  ravenous  beast  had  not  only  devoured  his  cap  but  cropped 
nearly  all  the  hair  from  one  side  of  his  head  !  As  the  man's  hair 
happened  to  be  glowing  in  color  and  coarse  in  texture,  the  mistake 
of  the  donkey  in  taking  it  to  be  swamp  hay,  is  not  so  much  to  be 
frondered  at. 

The  valley  about  the  Mission  Dolores  was  charmingly  greet 
^nd  beautiful  at  this  time.  Several  of  the  former  miners,  in  an- 
ticipation of  the  great  influx  of  emigrants  into  the  country  and  a 


AH    ATTEMPT    AT   6QUATTEK   LIFK.  299 

oonseqaent  market  for  vegetables,  pitched  their  tents  on  the  besi 
spots  along  the  Mission  Creek,  and  began  preparing  the  ground 
for  gardens.  The  valley  was  surveyed  and  staked  into  lots  almost 
to  the  summit  of  the  mountains,  and  the  operation  of  squatting 
was  performed  even  by  many  of  the  citizens  of  San  Francis<io,  fo 
the  purpose  of  obtaining  titles  to  the  land.  Some  gentlemen  of 
my  acquaintance  came  into  the  possession  of  certain  stone  quarries, 
meadow  lands  and  fine  sheep-pastures,  in  this  manner ;  where- 
jpon  a  friend  of  mine,  and  myself,  concluded  to  tiy  the  experiment, 
thinking  the  experience  might,  at  least,  be  of  some  benefit.  So, 
one  fine  morning  we  rode  out  to  the  Mission,  where  we  found  the 
surveyor  on  one  of  the  hills,  chopping  up  the  chapparal  into 
"  hundred  vara"  lots.  He  received  us  cordially,  and  on  looking 
over  his  map  of  the  locality,  found  two  adjoining  lots  of  two  hun- 
dred varas  each,  which  were  still  unoccupied.  They  lay  on  tha 
western  side  of  the  Valley,  on  the  slope  of  the  mountains.  We 
hastened  away,  crossed  two  yawning  arroyos  and  climbed  the  steep, 
where,  truly  enough,  we  found  the  stakes  indicatmg  the  limits  of 
the  survey.  I  chose  a  little  valley,  scooped  out  between  two  peaks 
ot  the  ridge,  and  watered  by  a  clear  stream  which  trickled  down 
through  its  centre.  My  friend  took  a  broader  tract,  which  was  not 
BO  well  watered  as  mine  ;  however,  on  examining  the  soil,  we 
agreed  that  it  would  produce  good  crops  of  cabbages  and  turnips 
Accordingly,  we  marched  leisurely  over  the  ground,  ascended  to 
its  highest  part,  and  took  a  seat  on  a  boulder  of  gray  rock,  which 
stood  exactly  upon  the  line  between  our  two  territories.  All  the 
beautiful  Valley  lay  beneath  us,  with  the  bay  beyond,  a  part  of  the 
shipping  of  San  Francisco,  and  Monte  Diablo  in  the  distance-^ 
fine  prospect  for  a  squatter ! 

On  our  return  to  the  city,  we  debated  whether  we  should  pro 


800  BLL  IRADO. 

core  materials  for  a  tent  and  take  up  an  abode  on  the  lofty  lets  ; 

but,  as  it  was  not  at  all  clear  that  any  land  could  be  granted,  or 
that  it  would  be  worth  taking  even  if  we  should  become  bona  fide 
settlers,  we  finally  determined  to  let  the  matter  rest.  We  did  not 
repeat  our  visit,  and  we  learned  soon  afterwards  that  violent  dis- 
putes had  arisen  between  the  inhabitants  of  the  Mission  and  the 
emigrants  who  h.%d  commenced  gardening.  I,  who  never  owned 
a  rood  of  land  in  my  life,  would  nevertheless  have  accepted  thu 
proprietorship  of  one  of  the  bleak  pinnacles  of  the  Sierra  Navada — 
or  better,  the  top  of  the  Shaste  Peak — could  it  have  been  given 
me,  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  there  was  one  spot  of 
the  Earth  which  I  might  claim  as  my  own,  down  to  its  burning 
centre. 


CHAITER  XXII. 

BAN    FRANCISCO,    FOUR    MONTHS    LATER. 

Of  ail  the  marvellous  phases  of  the  history  of  the  Present,  the 
grow ih  of  San  Francisco  is  the  one  which  will  most  tax  the  belief 
of  the  Future.  Its  parallel  was  never  known,  and  shall  never  bo 
beheld  again.  I  speak  only  of  what  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes 
When  I  landed  there,  a  little  more  than  four  months  before,  ] 
found  a  scattering  town  of  tents  and  canvas  houses,  with  a  shov 
of  frame  buildings  on  one  or  two  streets,  and  a  population  of  about 
six  thousand.  Now,  on  my  last  visit,  I  saw  around  me  an  actual 
metropolis,  displaying  street  after  street  of  well-built  edifices, 
filled  with  an  active  and  enterprising  people  and  exhibiting  every 
mark  of  permanent  co'nmercial  prosperity.  Then,  the  town  was 
limited  to  the  "urve  of  the  Bay  fronting  the  anchorage  and  bottoms 
of  the  hills.  Now  it  stretched  to  the  topmost  heights,  followed 
the  shore  around  point  after  point,  and  sending  back  a  long  arm 
through  a  gap  in  the  hills,  took  hold  of  the  Golden  Gate  and  was 
building  its  warehouses  on  the  open  strait  and  almost  fronting  the 
blue  horizon  of  the  Pacific.  Then,  the  gold-seeking  sojourner 
lodged  in  muslin  rooms  and  canvas  garrets,  with  a  philosophic 
lack  of  furniture,  and  ate  his  simple  though  substantial  fare  from 
pme  boards.  Nov,  lofty  hotels,  gaudy  with  verandas  and  bal- 
conies, were  met  with  in  all  quarters,  furnished  with  home  luxury, 


,^02  ELDORADO. 

and  aristocratic  restaurants  presented  daily  their  long  bills  of  fero, 
rich  with  the  choicest  technicalities  of  the  Parisian  cuisine.  Then, 
vessels  were  coming  in  day  after  day,  to  lie  deserted  and  useless  at 
Uieir  anchorage.  Now  scarce  a  day  passed,  but  some  cluster  of 
saUs,  bound  outward  through  the  Golden  Gate,  took  their  way  to 
J.11  the  corners  of  the  Pacific.  Like  the  magic  seed  of  the  Indian 
juggler,  which  grew,  blossomed  and  bore  fruit  before  the  eyes  a* 
his  spectators,  San  Francisco  seemed  to  have  accomplished  in  a 
day  the  growth  of  half  a  century. 

When  I  first  landed  in  California^  bewildered  and  amazed  by 
what  seemed  an  unnatural  standard  of  prices,  I  formed  the 
opinion  that  there  woiJd  be  before  long  a  great  crash  in  specula- 
tion. Things,  it  appeared  then,  had  reached  the  crisis,  and  it  was 
pronounced  impossible  that  they  could  remain  stationary.  ThL* 
might  have  been  a  very  natural  idea  at  the  time,  but  the  subse 
quent  course  of  afiairs  proved  it  to  be  incorrect.  Lands,  rente 
^oods  and  subsistence  continued  steadily  to  advance  in  cost,  and  as 
iie  credit  system  had  been  meanwhile  prudently  contracted,  thp 
character  of  the  business  done  was  the  muio  real  and  substantial. 
Two  or  three  years  will  pass,  in  all  probability,  before  there  is  a 
positive  abatement  of  the  standard  of  prices.  There  will  be 
fluctuations  in  the  meantime,  occasioning  gi.:at  gains  and  losses, 
but  the  fall  in  rents  and  real  estate,  when  it  corned,  as  it  inevitably 
must  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  years,  will  not  be  so  crushuug 
as  I  at  first  imagined.  I  doubt  whether  it  will  seriously  injure  the 
commercial  activity  of  the  place.  Prices  will  never  fall  to  the 
same  standard  as  in  the  Atlantic  States.  Fircoiies  wiil  always  be 
made  by  the  sober,  intelligent,  induffLnous,  aiiJ  energetic  ;  but  no 
one  who  is  either  too  careless,  too  spiritless  or  too  ignoiant  to  suc- 
ceed at  home,  need  trouble  himself  about  emigratiit^.     The  same 


ITEMS   OF   8PECULATI0R  30S 

general  rule  uolds  good,  as  well  here  as  elsewhere,  and  it  ia  all  the 
better  for  human  nature  that  it  is  so. 

Not  only  was  the  heaviest  part  of  the  business  conducted 
on  cash  principles,  but  all  rents,  even  to  lodgings  in  hotels,  were 
required  to  be  paid  in  advance.  A  single  bowling-alley,  in  the 
basement  story  of  the  Ward  House — a  new  hotel  on  Portsmouth- 
Square — prepaid  $5,000  monthly.  The  firm  of  Findley,  John- 
son &  Co.  sold  their  real  estate,  purchased  a  year  previous,  foi 
|20,000,  at  $300,000  ;  $25,000  down,  and  the  rest  in  monthlj 
instalments  of  $12,500.  This  was  a  fair  specimen  of  the  specn 
lations  daily  made.  Those  on  a  lesser  scale  were  frequently  of  a 
7ery  amusing  character,  but  the  claims  on  one's  astonishment  were 
so  constant,  that  the  faculty  soon  wore  out,  and  the  most  unh^ard- 
if  operations  were  looked  upon  a?  matters  of  course  Among 
others  that  came  under  my  observation,  was  one  of  a  gentleman 
who  purchased  a  barrel  of  alum  for  $3,  the  pnce  in  New  York 
being  $9.  It  happened  to  be  the  only  alum  in  the  place,  and  as 
there  was  a  demand  fcr  it  shortly  afterwards,  he  sold  the  barrel 
for  $150.  Anoth3>  ti  chased  all  the  candle-wick  to  be  found,  at 
an  average  price  of  10  cts.  per  lb  ,  and  sold  it  in  a  short  time  at 
$2  25  per  lb  A  friend  of  mine  expended  $10,000  in  purchasing 
barley,  which  ir  «  week  brought  $20,000  The  greatest  gaina 
were  still  made  by  the  gambling  tables  a-^.d  the  eating-houses. 
Every  device  that  art  could  suggest  was  used  to  swell  the  custom 
of  the  former.  The  latter  found  abundant  support  in  the  neces- 
aities  of  a  large  floating  population,  in  addition  to  the  swarm  oi 
permanent  residents. 

For  a  month  or  two  p.evious  tc  this  time,  money  had  been  ver^ 
ijcarce  in  the  market,  and  from  ten  to  fifteen  per  cent,  monthly,  wai 
oaid,  with  the  addition  of  good  security.     Notwithstanding  tht 


304  CLDORAOO. 

quantity  of  coin  brought  into  the  country  by  eiLigrants,  and  t;h« 
millions  of  gold  dust  used  as  currency,  the  actual  specie  baaa 
wna  very  small  compared  with  the  immense  amount  of  business 
transacted.  Nevertheless,  I  heard  of  nothing  like  a  failure  ;  the 
principal  firms  were  prompt  in  all  their  dealings,  and  the  chivalry 
of  Commerce — to  use  a  new  phrase — ^was  as  faithfully  observed  as 
it  could  have  been  in  the  old  marts  of  E  :>rope  ?nd  America.  The 
merchants  had  a  'Change  and  News-room,  and  were  beginning  to 
cooperate  in  their  movements  and  consolidate  their  credit.  A 
stock  company  which  had  built  a  long  wharf  at  the  foot  of  Sacra-^ 
ento-st.  declared  a  dividend  of  ten  per  cent,  within  six  weeks  aftei 
^he  wharf  was  finished.  During  the  muddy  season,  it  was  thi" 
only  coavenient  place  for  landing  goods,  and  as  the  cost  of  con- 
iitructing  it  was  enormous,  so  were  likewise  the  charges  for  wharf- 
age ana  storage. 

There  had  been  a  vast  impr  jvenient  in  the  m sans  of  living 
dnce  my  previous  visit  to  San  Francisco.  Several  large  hotel* 
had  been  opened,  which  were  equal  ;n  a'lmost  every  respect  to 
houses  of  the  second  class  in  the  Atlantic  cities.  The  Ward 
House,  the  Graham  House,  imported  bodiV  from  Baltimore,  and 
the  St.  Francis  Hotel,  completely  threw  into  the  shade  all  former 
establishments.  The  rooms  were  furnished  with  comfort  and  even 
luxury,  and  the  tables  lacked  few  of  the  essentials  of  good  liv^ing, 
'ccording  to  a  '  home'  taste.  The  sleeping  apartments  of  the  St. 
Francis  were  the  best  in  California.  The  cost  of  board  and 
lodging  was  $150  per  month — which  was  considered  unusually 
eheap.  A  room  at  the  Ward  House  cost  $250  monthly,  without 
board.  The  principal  restaurants  charged  ^35  a  week  foi 
board,  and  there  were  lodging  houses  where  a  berth  or  "  bunk' 
.--one  out  of  fifty  in  the  same  room — ^mightbe  had  for  $6  a  weeb 


\   CITY  or  MEN.  305 

The  model  of  these  establishments — which  were  far  froai  beiiui 
'*  model  lodging-houses" — was  thaf  of  a  ship.  A  number  of  state" 
rooms,  containing  six  berths  each,  ran  around  the  sides  of  a  larg« 
room,  or  cabin,  where  the  lodgers  resorted  to  read,  write,  smoke 
and  drink  at  their  leisure.  The  state-rooms  were  consequently 
filled  with  foul  and  unwholesome  air,  and  the  noises  in  the  cabin 
prevented  the  passengers  from  sleeping,  except  between  midni^t 
and  four  o'clock. 

The  great  w^i  t  of  San  Francisco  was  society.  Think  of  a  citj 
of  thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  peopled  by  men  alone  !  The  like 
of  this  was  never  seen  before.  Every  man  waa  his  own  housekeeper 
doing,  in  many  instances,  his  own  sweeping,  cooking,  washing  and 
mending.  Many  home-arts,  learned  rather  by  observation  than 
experience,  came  conveniently  into  play.  He  who  cannot  make  a 
bed,  cook  a  beefsteak,  or  sew  up  his  own  rips  and  rents,  is  unfit 
to  be  a  citizen  of  California.  Nevertheless,  since  the  town  begab 
to  assume  a  permanent  shape,  very  many  of  the  comforts  of  life 
in  the  East  were  attainable.  A  family  may  now  live  there  with- 
out suffering  any  material  privations  ;  and  if  every  married  man, 
who  intends  spending  some  time  in  California,  would  take  his 
family  with  him,  a  social  influence  would  soon  be  created  to  wbicli 
we  might  look  for  the  happiest  results. 

Towards  the  close  of  my  stay,  the  city  was  as  dismal  a  place  m 
could  well  be  imagined.  The  glimpse  of  bright,  warm,  serene 
weather  passed  away,  leaving  in  its  stead  a  raw,  cheerless,  south- 
east storm.  The  wind  now  and  then  blew  a  heavy  gale,  and  the 
cold,  steady  fall  of  rain,  was  varied  by  claps  of  thunder  and  sod- 
den  blasts  of  hail.  The  mud  in  the  streets  became  little  short 
of  fathomless,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the  mules  could  drag 
iheir  empty  wagons  through.     A  powerful  London  dray-horse,  $ 


306  ELDORADO. 

v^ery  giant  in  harness,  was  the  only  animal  able  to  pull  a  good 
load  ;  and  I  was  told  that  he  earned  his  master  $100  daily.  I  sav» 
occasionally  a  company  of  Chinese  workmen,  carrying  bricks  and 
mortar,  slung  by  ropes  to  long  bamboo  poles.  The  plank  side- 
walks, in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  ran  along  the  brink  of  pools 
and  quicksands,  which  the  Street  Inspector  and  his  men  vainly  en- 
deavored to  fill  by  hauling  cart-loads  of  chapparal  and  throwing 
Band  on  the  top  ;  in  a  day  or  two  the  gulf  was  as  deep  as  ever. 
The  side-walks,  which  were  made  at  the  cost  of  $5  per  foot, 
bridged  over  the  worst  spots,  but  I  was  frequently  obliged  to  go 
the  whole  length  of  a  block  in  order  to  get  on  the  other  side. 
One  could  not  walk  any  distance,  without  getting  at  least  ancle- 
deep,  and  although  the  thermometer  rarely  sank  below  50*^,  it  was 
impossible  to  stand  still  for  even  a  short  time  without  a  death-like 
chill  taking  hold  of  the  feet.  As  a  consequence  of  this,  coughs 
and  bronchial  affections  were  innumerable.  The  universal  custom 
of  wearing  the  pantaloons  inside  the  boots  threatened  to  restore 
the  knee-breeches  of  our  grandfathers'  times.  Even  women  were 
obliged  to  shorten  their  skirts,  and  wear  high-topped  boots.  The 
population  seemed  to  be  composed  entirely  of  dismounted  hussars, 
AU  this  will  be  remedied  when  the  city  is  two  years  older,  and 
Portsmouth  Square  boasts  a  pave  as  elegant  as  that  on  the  dollai 
side  of  Broadway. 

The  severe  weather  occasioned  a  great  deal  of  sickness,  espe- 
cially among  those  who  led  an  exposed  life.  The  city  overflowed 
with  people,  and  notwithstanding  buildings  were  continually  grow- 
ing up  like  mushrooms,  over  night,  hundreds  who  arrived  wert 
obliged  to  lodge  in  tents,  with  which  the  summits  of  the  hills  were 
covered.  Fever-and-ague  and  dysentery  were  the  prevailing  com- 
plaints, the  great  prevalen?«  of  which  was  owing  undoubtedly  to 


WINTER    WEATHEfi  '^'J 

exposure  and  an  irregular  habit  of  life.  An  association  was  form- 
3d  to  relieve  those  in  actual  want,  many  of  the  wealthiest  ana 
most  influential  citizens  taking  an  honorable  part  in  the  matter 
Many  instances  of  lamentable  destitution  were  by  this  meani 
brought  to  light.  Nearly  aU  the  hospitals  of  the  place  were  soon 
filled,  and  numbers  went  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  to  recr.iit.  Th 
City  Hospital,  a  large,  well  ventilated  and  regulated  estahlish 
ment,  contained  about  fifty  patients.  The  attending  physician 
described  to  me  several  cases  of  nearly  hopeless  lunacy  which  had 
come  under  his  care,  some  of  them  produced  by  disappointment 
and  ill-luck,  and  others  by  sudden  increase  of  fortune.  Poor 
human  nature ! 

In  the  midst  of  the  rains,  ve  were  greetea  one  morning  with  a 
magnificent  spectacle.  The  wind  had  blown  furiously  duriu<'  the 
night,  with  violent  falls  of  rain,  but  the  sun  rose  in  a  spotless  sky, 
revealing  the  Coast  Mountains  across  the  bay  wrapped  in  snow 
half-way  down  their  sides  For  two  days  they  wore  their  dazzling 
crown,  which  could  be  seen  melting  away  hour  by  hour,  from  their 
ridges  and  cloven  ravines.  This  was  the  only  snow  I  saw  while  in 
San  Francisco ;  only  once  did  I  notice  any  appearance  of  frost. 
The  grass  was  green  and  vigorous,  and  some  of  the  more  hardy 
plants  in  blossom  ;  vegetables,  it  is  well  known,  flourish  with  equal 
luxuriance  during  the  winter  season.  At  one  of  the  restaurants, 
I  was  shown  some  remarkable  specimens  of  the  growth  of  Califor- 
aia  soil — potatoes,  weighing  from  one  to  five  pounds  each  ;  beets 
and  turnips  eight  inches  in  diameter,  and  perfectly  sweet  and 
«cnnd  ;  and  large,  silver-skinned  onions,  whose  delicate  flavor  the 
most  inveterate  enemy  of  this  honest  vegetable  could  not  but  have 
relished.  A  gentleman  who  visited  the  port  of  Bodega,  informed 
ne  that  he  saw  in  the  garden  of  Capt.  Smith,  the  owner  of  &e 


808  ELPORADO 

place,  pea-vines  which  had  produced  their  third  3rop  from  tht 
6ame  root  in  one  summer. 

As  the  rains  drove  the  deer  and  other  animals  dovrn  from  the 
mountains,  game  of  all  kinds  became  abundant.  Fat  elks  and 
splendid  black-tailed  does  hung  at  the  doors  of  all  the  butcher- 
shops,  and  wild  geese,  duck  and  brant,  were  brought  into  the 
iiity  by  the  wagon-load.  "  Grizzly  bear  steak,"  became  a  choice 
dish  at  the  eating-houses  ;  I  had  the  satisfaction  one  night  of 
eating  a  slice  of  one  that  had  weighed  eleven  hundred  pounds 
The  flesh  was  of  a  bright  red  color,  very  solid,  sweet,  and  nutri- 
tious;  its  flavor  was  preferable  to  that  of  the  best  pork.  Th< 
large  native  hare,  a  specimen  of  which  occa.sionally  found  its  way 
to  the  restaurants,  is  nowise  inferior  to  that  of  Europe.  As  an 
illustration  of  the  money  which  might  be  spent  in  procuring  a 
meal  no  better  than  an  ordinary  hotel-dinner  at  home,  I  niav 
mention  that  a  dinner  for  fifteen  persons,  to  which  I  was  invited, 
at  the  "  Excelsior,"  cost  the  giver  of  it  $225 

The  eflect  of  a  growing  prosperity  and  some  little  taste  of  luxury 
was  readily  seen  in  the  appearance  of  the  business  community  of 
San  Francisco.  The  slouched  felt  hats  gave  way  to  narrow-brim- 
med black  beavers ;  flannel  shirts  were  laid  aside,  and  white 
linen,  though  indifferently  washed,  appeared  instead ;  dress  and 
frock  coats,  of  the  fashion  of  the  previous  year  in  the  Atlantic 
side,  came  forth  from  trunks  and  sea-ch-ists ;  in  short,  a  SaD 
Franijisco  merchant  was  almost  as  smooth  and  spruce  in  his  out- 
ward appearance  as  a  merchant  anywhere  else.  The  hussai 
boot,  however,  was  obliged  to  be  worn,  and  a  variation  of  the 
Mexican  sombrero — a  very  convenient  and  becoming  head-pieee — 
same  into  fashion  among  the  younger  class. 

The  steamers  which  arrived  at  this  time  brought  large  quan 


SA.K  rkANcrsco  newspapera.  36fl 

lilies  of  newspapers  from  all  parts  of  the  Atlantic  States.  The 
B peculation  which  had  been  so  successful  at  first,  was  ccmplotelj 
overdone  ;  there  was  a  glut  in  the  market,  iu  consequence  whereof 
nnwspfipers  came  down  to  fifty  and  twenty-five  cents  apiece.  Th' 
leading  journals  of  New-York,  New-Orleans  and  Boston  were  cried 
ai  everj  street-Cf  rner.  The  two  papers  established  in  the  plact 
issued  editions  "  for  ttie  A.tiaatic  Coast/'  at  the  sailing  of  every 
steamer  for  Panama..  The  offices  were  invaded  by  crowds  of  pur- 
chasers, and  the  slow  hand-presses  13  use  could  not  keej  pace 
with  the  demand.  The  profits  of  these  journals  were  almost  in- 
credible, when  contrasted  with  their  size  and  the  amount  of  their 
eirculation.  Neither  of  them  failed  to  count  their  gains  at  the 
rate  of  $75,000  a  year,  clear  profit. 

My  preparations  for  leaving  San  Francisco,  were  made  with  the 
regret  that  I  could  not  remain  longer  and  see  more  of  the  won- 
derful s;rowth  of  the  Empire  of  the  West.  Yet  I  was  fortunate 
in  witnessing  the  most  peculiar  and  interesting  stages  of  its  pro- 
gress, ani  I  took  my  departure  in  the  hope  of  returning  at  some 
future  day^  to  view  the  completion  of  tht  je  magnificent  beginnings 
The  world's  history  has  no  page  so  maiTelkus  as  that  which  hat 
iust  been  turned  in  California. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


SOCIETY    IN    CALIFOHXIA. 


There  are  some  features  of  society  in  California,  M'^hich  I  have 
hitherto  fai'eJ  to  touch  upon  in  my  narrative,  hut  which  deserve  a 
passing  notice  before  I  taVe  my  final  leave  of  that  wonderful  land 
The  direct  eflFect  of  the  stiite  of  things  growing  out  of  the  discovery 
of  the  placers,  was  to  "'evelop  new  qualities  and  traits  of  character, 
not  in  single  Individua  s  but  in  every  individual  of  the  entire  com- 
munity— traits  frequently  most  unlooked-for  in  those  who  exhibite<^ 
them  in  the  most  marked  degree.  Society,  "'"•erefore,  was  for  tliC 
time  cas*  mto  new  forms,  or,  rather,  deprived  of  any  fixed  form.  A 
man,  on  coming  to  California,  could  no  more  expect  to  retain  his 
old  nature  uuchano-ed,  than  he  floiv  j  -eiain  m  .'.is  lungs  the  aii  he 
had  inhaled  on  the  ^.t'lantic  shore. 

The  moot  immediate  an*?  striking  change  which  came  npon  the 
greater  portion  •  f  t^e  ern'orants  wis  an  increase  of  activity,  and 
propi  rtionately,  of  reckless  and  da-ing  spirit.  It  was  curious  tc 
sec  t?ow  men  hitherto  noted  for  their  prudence  and  caution  tooh 
sudden  leave  of  those  qualities,  to  all  appearance ,  yet  only  pros- 
pered the  more  thereby.  Perhaps  there  was  at  bottom  a  vein  ol 
ceen,  shrewd  calculation,  which  directed  ieir  seemingly  hcedlesa 
movements  ;  certain  it  is.  at  least,  that  for  a  long  time  the  rasheet 


THE    EMIGRANTS.  811 

apeculators  were  the  most  fortunate  It  was  this  fact,  no  donbt, 
that  seemed  eo  alarming  to  persons  newly- arrived,  and  gave  rise 
to  unnumbered  predictions  of  the  speedy  and  ruinous  crash  of  the 
whole  business  fabric  of  San  Francisco.  But  nothinc  is  more  con- 
agious  than  this  spirit  of  daring  and  independent  action,  and  the 
most  doleful  prophets  were,  ere  long,  swallowed  u;  in  the  same 
whirlpool  against  which  they  had  warned  others. 

The  emigrants  who  arrive  in  California,  very  toon  divide  into 
two  distinct  classes.  About  two-thirds,  or  possibly  three-foartlw 
of  them  are  active,  hopeful  and  mdustriox-s.  They  feel  this  sin- 
gular intoxication  of  society,  and  go  to  work  at  something,  no 
matter  what,  by  which  they  hope  to  thrive.  The  remaining  por 
tion  see  everything  "  through  a  glass,  darkly."  Their  first  bright 
anticipations  are  unrealized ;  the  horrid  winds  of  San  Francisco 
during  the  dry  season,  chill  and  urnerve  tbem  :  or,  if  they  go  to 
the  placers,  the  severe  labor  and  the  ill  success  of  inexperienced 
hands,  completes  theu*  disgust.  They  commit  a  multitude  of  sins 
in  the  shape  of  curses  upon  every  one  who  has  written  or  spoken 
favorably  of  California.  Some  of  them  return  home  without  having 
seen  the  country  at  all,  and  others,  even  if  they  obtain  profitable 
situations,  labor  without  a  will.  It  is  no  place  for  a  slow,  an 
over-cautious,  or  a  despouding  man  The  emigrant  should  be 
willing  to  work,  not  only  at  one  business,  but  many,  if  need  be  , 
the  grumbler  or  the  idler  had  far  better  stay  at  home. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  very  activity  of  California  society 
created  a  spirit  of  excitement  which  frequently  led  to  dangerous 
excesses.  The  habits  of  the  emigrants,  never,  even  at  home,  very 
slow  and  deliberate,  branched  into  all  kinds  of  wild  ofifshoots,  the 
necessary  effect  of  the  sudden  glow  and  expansion  which  they  cx- 
perienc3d      Those  who  retained  their  health  seemed  to  revel  in  an 


Hlii  tCLbORADO. 

exuberance  ;f  animal  spirits,  which  carried  them  with  scarce  a  jar 
over  barriers  and  obstacles  that  would  have  brought  others  to  a 
full  stand.  There  was  something  exceedingly  hearty,  cordial  and 
encouraging  in  the  character  of  social  intercourse.  The  ordinary 
forms  c»f  courtesy  were  flung  aside  with  a  bluntness  of  good-fel- 
lowship infinitely  preferable,  under  the  circumstances.  I  wa» 
constantly  reminded  of  the  stories  of  Northern  History — of  the 
stout  Vikings  and  J arls  who  exulted  in  their  very  passions  and 
made  their  r  eroes  of  those  who  were  most  jovial  at  the  feast  and 
most  easily  kindled  with  the  rage  of  battle.  Indeed,  it  required 
out  little  efibrt  of  the  imagmation  to  revive  those  iron  ages,  when 
the  rugged  gold-diggers,  with  their  long  hair  and  unshorn  oeards, 
were  grouped  around  some  mountain  camp-fire,  revelling  in  the 
ruddy  light  and  giving  full  play  to  a  mirth  so  powerful  and  pro- 
found that  it  would  not  have  shamed  the  Berserkers. 

The  most  common  excesses  into  which  the  Californians  run,  are 
drinking  and  gambling.     I  say  drinking,  rather  than  drunkenness, 
for  I  saw  very  little  of  the  latter.     But  a  single  case  canje  under 
my  observation  while  I  was  in  the  gold  region.     The  man's  friends 
look  away  his  money  and  deposited  it  in  the  hands  of  the  Alcalde, 
then  tied  him  to  a  tree  where  they  left  him  till  he  became  sober. 
The  practice  of  drinking,  nevertheless,  was  widely  prevalent,  and 
its  eff^'icts  rendered  more  destructive  by  the  large  amount  of  bad 
liquor  which  was  sent  into  the  country.     G-ambling,  in  spite  of 
universal  public  sentiment  against  it,  grew  and  flourished  ;  th 
dLsappointmcnt  and  ruin  of  many  emigrants  were  owing  to  its  ex 
istence.     The  gamblers  themselves  were  in  many  instances  men 
who  had  led  orderly  and  respectable  lives  at  home.     I  have  heard 
Bomc  of  them  frankly  avow  that  nothing  would  induce  them  to  ac- 
quaint their  friends  and  families  with  the  nature  of  their  occupft" 


THE    ENERGIES    OK    CALIFORNIA    SOCIETY  31? 

aon  ,  they  would  soon  have  enough,  they  said,  and  then  they  would 
wash  their  hands  of  the  unclean  stain,  and  go  home  to  lead  morp 
honorable  lives.  But  alas  !  it  is  not  so  easy  to  wash  3ut  the 
memory  of  self-degradation.  If  Lhpse  men  have  in  tinith  any  sen 
timent  of  honor  remaining,  eve-/  ccin  of  the  wealth  they  have 
aoarded  will  awaken  a  shameful  consciousness  cf  the  base  and  un- 
manly business  by  whicn  it  was  i.-btained 

In  spite,  however,  of  all  these  dissipating  and  disorganizing  in« 
fluences,  the  main  stock  of  society  was  sound,  vigorous  and  pro- 
gressive. The  rank  shcots,  while  they  might  have  slightly  weak- 
ened the  trunK,  only  showed  the  abundant  life  of  the  root.  Id 
short,  without  wishing  to  be  understood  as  apologizing  in  any  de- 
irree  for  the  evils  which  existed,  it  was  evident  that  had  the  Cali- 
fornians  been  more  cool,  grave  and  deliberate  in  their  tempera- 
ment— }irA  they  lacked  the  fiery  energy  and  impulsive  spirit 
*hich  pushed  theia  irresistibly  forward — the  dangers  which  sur- 
•ounded  them  at  the  outset  would  have  been  far  more  imminent 
Besides,  this  energy  did  not  run  at  random  ;  it  was  in  the  end 
directed  by  an  enlightened  experience,  and  that  instinct  of  Right, 
which  is  the  strength  and  security  of  a  self-governed  People. 
Hundreds  of  instances  might  be  adduced  to  show  that  the  worst 
passions  of  our  nat.»re  were  speedily  developed  in  the  air  of  Cali- 
fornia, but  the  one  grand  lesson  of  the  settlement  and  organiza 
tion  of  the  country  is  of  a  character  that  ennobles  the  race. 

T  Je  unanimity  with  which  all  united  in  this  work — the  frank. 
ness  with  which  the  old  prejudices  of  sect  and  party  were  Jis 
claimed — the  freshly-awakened  pride  of  country,  which  made 
every  citizen  jealously  and  disinterestedly  anxious  that  she  should 
acquit  herself  honorably  in  the  eyes  of  the  Nation  at  large — formed 
^  spectacle  which  miist  claim  our  entire  admiration.     In  view  of 


314  EI  DORADO. 

the  splendid  future  which  is  opening  fcr  California    it  insures  hei 
a  stable  foundation  on  which  to  build  the  superstructure  of  her 
ealth  and  power. 

After  what  has  been  said,  it  wi/"  appear  natural  that  Califoria 
should  be  the  most  aemocratic  country  in  the  world.  The  prac- 
tical equality  of  aL  the  members  of  a  community,  whatever  might 
be  the  wealth,  intelligence  or  profession  of  each,  was  never  before 
thoroughly  demonstrated.  Dress  was  no  guage  of  respectability. 
and  no  honest  occupation,  however  menial  in  its  character,  affect- 
ed a  man's  standing.  Lawyers,  physicians  and  ex-professors  dug 
cellars,  drove  ox-teams,  sawed  wood  and  carried  luggage  ;  while 
men  who  had  been  Army  privates,  sailors,  cooks  or  day  laborers 
were  at  the  head  of  profitable  establishments  and  not  infrequently 
assisted  in  some  of  .he  minor  details  of  Governmeit.  A  man 
who  would  consider  xiis  fellow  beneath  him,  on  account  of  his  ap- 
pearance or  oc<5upation.  would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  living 
peaceally  in  California,  "^he  security  of  the  country  is  owing,  in 
DO  small  degree,  to  this  plain,  practical  development  of  what  the 
French  reverence  as  an  abstraction,  under  the  name  of  Fratermte 
To  sum  up  all  in  three  wox'ds.  Labor  is  respectable:  may  it 
never  be  otherwise,  while  a  grain  of  gold  is  left  to  glitter  in  Cali- 
fomian  soil  ' 

I  have  dwelt  with  the  more  earnestness  on  these  features  of 
Society  because  they  do  not  seem  to  be  fully  appreciated  on  this 
side  of  the  Continent.  I  cannot  take  leave,  in  the  regular  coui-sc 
of  my  narrative,  of  a  land  where  I  found  so  much  it  Nature  t«. 
admire  and  enjoy,  without  attempting  to  gi/e  some  geae~&l,  though 
impel  feet  view  of  Man,  as  he  appeared  under  those  r.cw  and  won- 
derful influences. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

LEAVING    SAN    FRANCISCO. 

The  rainy  season,  by  rendering  further  tra'V'el  very  unsatisfactory 
and  laborious,  if  not  impossible,  put  an  end  to  my  wanderings  in 
California,  which,  in  fact,  had  already  extended  beyond  the  period! 
had  originally  fixed  for  my  stay.  I  was  therefore  anxious  to  set  ou< 
on  my  homeward  journey  through  Mexico,  to  which  I  looked  for- 
ward with  glowing  anticipations.  Rather  than  wait  for  the  steamer 
of  Jan.  1st.,  I  decided  to  take  one  of  the  sailing  packets  up  for 
Mazatlan,  as  the  trip  down  the  coast  is  usually  made  in  from  ten 
to  fifteen  days.  The  most  promising  chance  was  that  of  a  Peru- 
vian brigautine  belonging  to  a  German  house,  which  I  was  assured 
would  sail  on  the  15th  of  December.  A  heavy  gale  coming  up  at 
the  time  put  this  out  of  the  question.  I  waited  until  the  17th, 
when  I  went  on  board,  determined  to  set  foot  no  more  in  San 
Franciscan  mud.  The  brigantine — which  bore  the  name  of 
Iquiquena,  from  the  Peruvian  port  of  Iquiqua — ^was  a  small, 
rakish  craft,  built  at  the  Island  of  Chiloe  for  a  smuggler  in  the 
opium  trade ;  having  been  afterwards  purchased  by  a  house  in 
CaUao,  she  still  retained  the  Peruvian  colors. 

In  her  low,  confined  cabin,  containing  eight  berths,  which  wem 
reached  by  a  dark  and  crooked  well,  opening  on  th9  deck  near  the 


3lt)  fcLboftAOo 

radder,  seven  passengers  were  crowded — Americans,  Mexlcana  anii 
Venezuelans — besides  the  captain,  mate,  supercargo  and  steward 
who  were  Germans,  as  were  likewise  the  greater  part  of  the  crew 
To  complete  the  circle  that  met  around  our  little  table  to  discusH 
the  invariable  daily  dinner  of  rice  soup  and  boiled  beef,  I  must 
not  omit  mentioning  a  Chinese  dog,  as  eccentric  in  his  behavior 
as  the  Celestials  on  shore.     The  captain  and  crew  did  nothing  tc 
fklsify  the  national  reputation  for  tardiness  and  delay.     In  our 
case  the  foco  tiempo  of  the  Chagres  boatmen  was  outdone.     Seven 
iays  were  we  doomed  to  spend  in  the  Bay,  before  the  almost 
hopeless  conjunction  of  wind,  tide,  crew,  passengers  and  vessel 
started  us  from  our  anchorage.     On  getting  aboard,  the  captain 
declared  everything  to  be  in  readiness,  except  the  wood  and  water 
which  would  be  forthcoming  next  day.     Having  some  experienct 
of  German  deliberation,  I  at  once  resigned  myself  to  three  days 
delay.     The  next  day  was  stormy  and  rough ;  on  the  second,  twt 
casks  of  water  were  brought  on  board  ;  the  third  was  stormy;  th( 
wood  was  purchased  on  the  fourth  ;  and  on  the  fifth,  the  sailors 
quarreled  about  their  pay  and  refused  to  go  to  sea. 

While  we  thus  lay  in  the  harbor,  just  inside  the  Riucon,  trying 
to  bear  with  patience  a  delay  so  vexatious,  one  of  the  terrible 
south-east  gales  came  on.  The  wind  gradually  rose  through  tho 
light,  and  its  violence  was  heard  and  felt  in  the  whistle  of  the 
rigging  and  the  uneasy  roll  of  our  brigantine.  When  morning 
lawned,  the  sky  was  as  gray  and  cold  as  an  arch  of  granite, 
except  towards  the  south-east,  where  a  streak  of  dun  light  seemed 
like  the  openicg  through  which  the  whole  fury  of  the  bla^t  was^ 
poured  upon  the  bay.  The  timbers  of  the  shipping  creaked  as- 
they  were  tossed  about  by  the  lashed  and  driven  waters ;  the  rig. 
ging  hummed  and  roared  till   tlio  ropes  were  ready  to  snap  with 


k    GALE    ANb    A    FIRE.  817 

the  violence  of  their  vibrations.  There  was  little  ram  aooom 
panying  the  gale,  but  every  drop  stung  like  a  shot  Seen  under 
a  sky  and  through  an  atmosphere  from  which  all  sensation  of  lighl 
and  warmth  was  gone,  the  town  and  hills  of  San  Francisco 
appeared  as  if  cast  in  bronze,  so  cold,  dark,  and  severe  were  theii 

utlines.  The  blackest  thunder-gusts  I  ever  saw,  had  nothing  so 
savage  and  relentless  in  their  expression.  All  day  and  night, 
having  dragged  our  anchor  and  drifted  on  the  shoals,  wo  lay 
thumping  heavily  with  every  swell,  while  a  large  barque,  with 
three  anchors  out,  threatened  to  stave  in  our  bows.  Towards 
morning  the  rain  increased,  and  in  the  same  proportion  the  gale 
abated.  During  its  prevalence  five  or  six  vessels  were  injured, 
and  two  or  three  entirely  lost. 

The  sailors  having  been  pacified,  the  supercargo  taken  on  board, 
and  the  brig  declared  ready  for  sea,  we  were  detained  another  day 
on  account  of  the  anchor  sticking  fast  in  the  mud,  and  still  anothei 
through  lack  of  a  favorable  wind.  Finally,  on  the  eighth  daj 
after  going  on  board,  the  brig  was  warped  through  the  crowded 
vessels,  and  took  the  first  of  the  ebb  tide,  with  a  light  breeze,  t* 
run  out  of  the  harbor. 

I  went  on  deck,  in  the  misty  daybreak,  ^o  take  a  parting  looJ« 
at  the  town  and  its  amphitheatric  hills.  As  I  turned  my  taof 
shoreward,  a  little  spark  appeared  through  the  fog.  Suddenly  i( 
shot  up  into  a  spiry  flame,  and  at  the  same  instant  I  heard  the 

ound  of  gongs,  bells  and  trumpets,  and  the  shouting  of  human 
voices.  The  calamity,  predicted  and  dreaded  so  long  in  advance, 
rhat  men  ceased  to  think  of  it,  had  come  at  last — San  Francisco 
was  on  fire !  The  blaze  increased  with  fearful  rapidity.  In 
fifteen  minutes,  it  had  risen  into  a  broad,  flickering  column,  mak- 
ing all  the  shore,  the  misty  air  and  the  wat*;-  ruddy  as  with  another 


318  RLDORADO. 

Bunriso.  The  sides  of  new  frame  houses,  scattered  through  the 
town,  tents  high  up  on  the  hills,  and  the  hulls  and  listless  sails  of 
vessels  in  the  hay,  gleamed  and  sparkled  in  the  thick  atmosphere 
Meanwhile  the  roar  and  tumult  swelled,  and  ahove  the  clang  of 
gongs  and  the  ciies  of  the  populace,  I  could  hear  the  crackling 
of  blazing  timbers,  and  the  smothered  sound  of  falling  roofs.  1 
climbed  into  the  rigging  and  watched  the  progress  of  the  confla- 
gration. As  the  flames  leaped  upon  a  new  dwelling,  there  was  a 
sadden  whirl  of  their  waving  volumes — an  embracing  of  the  frail 
oralis  in  their  relentless  clasp — and,  a  second  afterwards,  from  roof 
tad  rafter  and  foundation-beam  shot  upward  a  jet  of  fire,  steady  and 
intense  at  first,  but  surging  off  into  spiral  folds  and  streamers,  aa 
the  timbers  were  parted  and  fell. 

For  more  than  hour,  while  we  were  tacking  in  the  channel 
between  Yerba  Buena  Island  and  the  anchorage,  there  was  no 
apparent  check  to  the  flames.  Before  passing  Fort  Montgomery, 
however,  we  heard  several  explosions  in  quick'  succession,  and 
sonjectured  that  vigorous  measures  had  been  taken  to  prevent 
further  destruction.  When  at  last,  with  a  fair  breeze  and  bright 
sky,  we  were  dashing  past  the  rock  of  Alcatraz,  the  red  column 
had  sunk  away  to  a  smouldering  blaze,  and  nothing  but  a  heavy 
oanopy  of  smoke  remained  to  tell  the  extent  of  the  conflagration. 
The  Golden  Gate  was  again  before  us,  and  I  looked  through  its 
mountain-walls  on  the  rolling  Pacific,  with  full  as  pleasant  an 
excitement  as  I  had  looked  inwards,  four  months  before,  eager  t 
aatch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  new  Eldorado. 

The  breeze  freshened,  the  swell  increased,  and  as  the  breaker; 
of  the  entrance  receded  behind  us,  we  entered  the  rough  sea  left 
by  a  recent  gale.  In  trying  to  haul  close  to  the  wind,  the  captain 
liiacovered  that  the  rudder  was  broken.     Immediately  afterwards, 


WE    PUT    BACK    IN    DISTRESS.  319 

there  was  a  cry  of  "  a  leak  !"  and  from  the  terror  on  the  faces  of 
the  mate  and  sailors,  I  thought  that  nothing  less  than  a  dozen 
blankets  could  stop  the  opening.  The  pumps  were  rigged  in  haste, 
1  ut  little  water  was  found  in  the  hold,  and  on  examination  it  ap- 
|)eared  that  the  leak,  which  was  in  the  bow,  was  caused  by  the 
gpiinging  apart  .of  the  planking  from  a  violent  blow  on  the  rocks 
which  the  brig  had  received  a  short  time  previous.  The  captain 
decided  at  once  to  return,  much  to  our  disappointment,  as  the 
wind  was  fair  for  Mazatlan.  We  were  twenty  miles  from  the  en- 
trance, and  after  beating  up  until  next  morning  found  ourselves 
just  as  far  off  as  ever.  The  wind  continuing  fair,  the  captain  sA 
length  listened  to  us,  and  turned  again  towards  Mazatlan.  A 
change  of  wind  again  changed  his  mind,  and  all  that  day  and  the 
lext  we  tacked  back  and  forth — sometimes  running  out  towards 
the  Farellones,  sometimes  close  under  the  lee  of  the  Punta  de  Los 
Reyes,  and  again  driven  down  the  coast  as  far,  on  the  other  side  oi 
the  entrance  What  our  brig  gained  in  tacking,  she  lost  in  lee- 
way, and  as  the  rudder  hung  by  a  single  pintle,  she  minded  her 
helm  badly.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  we  were  becalmed, 
but  drifted  into  the  entrance  of  the  Gate  with  the  flood-tide,  in 
company  with  fifteen  vessels,  that  had  been  waiting  outside.  A 
light  southern  breeze  springing  up,  enabled  us  to  reach  the  an- 
chorage west  of  Clark's  Point  in  the  night ;  so  that  next  morning, 
aft.;r  landing  on  the  beach  and  walking  through  a  milr?  of  deep 
mud,  I  was  once  more  in  San  Francisco. 

I  hastened  immediately  to  Portsmouth  Square,  the  scene  of  the 
conflagration.  All  its  eastern  front,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Delmonico  Restaurant  at  the  corner  of  Clay-st.  was  gone,  together 
with  the  entire  side  of  the  block,  on  Washington-st.  The  Eldo- 
rado, Parker  House,  Denison's  Exchange  and  the  United  States 


S20  ELDORADO 

CoflFee  House — ^forming,  collectively,  the  great  readezvcus  of  the 
city,  where  everybody  could  be  found  at  some  time  of  the  day — 
were  among  the  things  that  had  been.  The  fronts  of  the  Veran- 
kiah,  Aguila  de  Oro,  and  other  hells  on  Washington-st.  were 
blackened  and  charred  from  the  intense  heat  to  which  they  were 
aubjected,  and  from  many  of  the  buildings  stiU  hung  the  blanketa 
by  means  of  which  they  were  saved.  Three  days  only  had  elapsed 
since  the  fire,  yet  in  that  time  all  the  rubbish  had  been  cleared 
away,  and  the  frames  of  several  houses  were  half  raised.  All  over 
the  burnt  space  sounded  one  incessant  tumult  of  hammers,  axee 
and  saws.  In  one  week  after  the  fire,  the  Eldorado  and  Denison'f 
Exchange  stood  completely  roofed  and  weatherboarded,  and  would 
soon  be  ready  for  occupation.  The  Parker  House  was  to  be  re- 
built of  brick,  and  the  timbers  of  the  basement  floor  were  already 
jud.  The  Exchange  had  been  contracted  for  at  $15,000,  to  be 
finished  in  two  weeks,  under  penalty  of  forfeiting  $150  for  every 
additional  day.  In  three  weeks  from  the  date  of  the  fire,  it  was 
calculated  that  all  the  buildings  destroyed  would  be  replaced  by 
new  ones,  of  better  construction.  The  loss  by  the  conflagration 
was  estimated  at  $1 ,500,000 — an  immense  sum,  when  the  number 
and  character  of  the  buildings  destroyed,  is  considered.  This  did 
not  include  the  loss  in  a  business  way,  which  was  probably 
^500,000  more.  The  general  business  of  the  place,  however,  had 
not  been  injured.  The  smaller  gambling  hells  around  and  near 
Portsmouth  Square  were  doing  a  good  business,  now  that  the 
head-quarters  of  the  profession  were  destroyed. 

Notwithstanding  there  was  no  air  stirring  at  the  time,  the  pro 
gress  of  the  fire,  as  described  by  those  who  were  on  the  spot,  had 
Bomeihing  terrific  in  its  character.  The  canvas  partitions  of  roomi 
ihrivelled  away  like  paper  in  the  breath  of  the  flames,  and  the  drj 


INCIDENTS    OF    THE       JNFLAGRaTION  321 

resinous  wood  of  the  outer  walls  radiated  a  heat  so  intense  tJjal 
houses  at  some  distance  were  obliged  to  be  kept  wet  to  prevent 
their  ignition.  Nothing  but  the  prompt  measures  of  the  city  au- 
thorities and  a  plentiful  supply  of  blankets  in  the  adjacent  stores, 
saved  all  the  lower  part  of  the  city  from  being  swept  away.  The 
houses  in  the  path  of  the  flames  were  either  blown  up  or  felled  like 
trees,  by  cutting  off  the  ground  tirabars  with  axes,  and  pulling  over 
the  structure  with  ropes  fastened  to  the  roof.  The  Spanish 
nerchants  on  Washington  street,  and  others  living  in  adobe 
lOuses  in  the  rear,  were  completely  stupified  by  the  danger,  and 
refused  to  have  their  buUdings  blown  up.  No  one  listened  t/ 
them,  and  five  minutes  afterwards,  adobes,  timbers  and  merchan 
dize  went  into  the  air  together. 

A  very  few  persons,  out  of  the  thousands  present,  did  the  work 
of  arresting  the  flames.  At  the  time  of  the  most  extreme  danger 
hundreds  of  idle  spectators  refused  to  lend  a  hand,  unless  thej 
were  paid  enormous  wages.  One  of  the  principal  merchants,  I 
was  told,  offered  a  dollar  a  bucket  for  water,  and  made  use  of 
several  thousand  buckets  in  saving  his  property.  All  the  owners 
of  property  worked  incessantly,  and  were  aided  by  their  friends 
but  at  least  five  thousand  spectators  stood  idle  in  the  plaza.  "» 
hope  their  selfish  indifference  is  not  a  necessary  offshoot  of  society 
here.  It  is  not  to  be  disputed,  however,  that  constant  farailiarify 
with  the  shifting  of  Fortune  between  her  farthest  extremes,  blunt? 
rery  much  the  sympathies  of  the  popular  heart. 

The  German  house  of  whom  I  had  obtained  a  passage  'or  Mai. 
atlan,  was  burned  out,  but  the  supercargo  soon  discovered  it* 
whereabouts.  A  committee  of  sea-captains,  appointed  to  ex 
amine  the  briga^itine,  reported  that  she  could  be  made  ready  foi 
Sea  in  three  or  four  days.     Und-er  these  circumstanoec.  iHe  own 


322  ELDORADO 

ers  refased  to  refund  more  than  half  the  passage-money,  which 
was  $75,  to  those  of  us  who  chose  to  leave  the  vessel.  My  time 
was  now  growing  precious,  and  I  had  no  doubt  the  three  days 
spoken  of  would  be  extended  to  as  many  weeks.  I  therefore  wenl 
to  the  office  of  the  Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company,  where,  as  1 
expected,  every  ticket  had  been  taken  weeks  before,  and  neither 
love,  money  nor  entreaty  seemed  likely  to  procure  one.  Mr. 
Robinson,  the  Agent,  however,  with  a  prompt  kindness  1  shall  not 
soon  forget,  gave  me  a  passage  to  Mazatlan,  with  the  understand- 
ing that  I  would  have  no  berth  and  probably  little  sleeping-room 
The  steamer  was  to  sail  on  the  first  of  January,  at  daybreak. 
After  coming  upon  my  friends  like  an  apparition — they  having 
supposed  me  to  be  far  out  at  sea — ^I  spent  two  days  on  shore, 
housed  up  from  rain  and  mud,  and  finally  took  a  boat  for  the 
gteamer  on  the  last  evening  of  the  year  1849.  It  was  during  the 
prevalence  of  the  spring-tides,  and  no  boat  could  be  had  to  go 
from  the  Long  Wharf  to  the  anchorage  off  the  Rincon,  for  less 
fian  $4.  I  had  two  oarsmen  for  myself  and  blankets  ;  it  was 
near  the  middle  of  the  ebb-tide,  and  we  ran  inside  the  shelter  of 
•Jhe  point  till  we  were  abreast  of  the  steamer.  She  was  now  about 
Aree-quarters  of  a  mile  distant,  but  a  foaming,  raging  flood  was 
between  us.  Several  large  boats,  manned  by  four  and  six  oars- 
men were  struggling  in  the  midst  of  the  current,  and  borne  away 
in  spite  of  themselves.  One  of  my  men  was  discouraged,  and 
wanted  to  turn  back,  but  there  was  a  majority  against  him.  1 
took  good  hold  of  the  tiller-ropes,  the  men  stripped  to  their  flan 
ael  shirts,  planted  their  feet  firmly  against  the  ribs  of  the  boat, 
and  we  dashed  into  the  teeth  of  the  tide.  We  were  thrown  and 
tossed  about  like  a  toy  ;  the  spray  flew  over  us,  and  the  strongesl 
efforts  of  the  men  did  not  seem  to  move  us  an  infth.     After  hal 


A    PULL    FOR    THE    STEAMER,  323 

an  hoar  of  hard  work,  durmg  which  we  contmually  losl  groand 
we  came  alongside  of  a  vessel  and  made  fast.  At  least  a  dozen 
other  craft  could  be  seen  strugglmg  out  after  us,  but  they  all  fell 
away,  some  of  them  drifting  two  or  three  miles  before  they  could 
make  a  halt.  We  lay  for  nearly  two  hours,  waiting  for  the  height 
of  the  ebb  to  pass,  but  the  flood  still  foamed  and  rushed,  dashing 
against  the  prows  of  vessels  and  boiling  around  their  sterns,  with 
an  incessant  roar.  At  last,  another  boat  with  two  passengers 
came  down  upon  us  in  the  darkness  ;  we  joined  crews,  leaving  one 
of  the  boats  behind,  and  set  out  again  with  four  oars.  It  was 
pitchy  dark,  with  a  rain  dashing  in  our  faces.  We  kept  on,  to- 
wards the  light  of  the  steamer,  gaining  about  a  yard  a  minute,  till 
we  reached  her  lee  gangway. 

I  unrolled  my  blankets  and  put  in  a  preemption  claim  for  one 
•iud  of  the  cabin-table.  Several  other  berthless  persons  occupied 
<he  benches  on  either  hand  and  the  iron  grating  below,  which 
printed  their  sides  like  a  checker-board ;  and  so  we  passed  the  night 
The  last  boat-loads  came  out  in  the  morning ;  the  parting  gun 
echoed  back  from  the  Island  of  Yerba  Buena  ;  the  paddles  moved ; 
San  Francisco  slid  away  from  us,  and  the  Golden  Gate  opened 
igain ;  the  swells  of  the  Pacific  rolled  forward  to  meet  tis  ;  the 
floast  wheeled  around  and  fronted  our  larboard  side  ;  rain  and  fog 
were  behind  us,  and  a  speck  of  clear  blue  far  ahead — and  so  we 
sped  southward,  to  the  tropics,  and  homeward  ! 

The  Oregon's  freight,  both  of  gold  and  passengers,  was  the 
most  important  which  had  ever  left  San  Francisco.  Of  the  for- 
mer, we  had  about  two  millions  of  dollars  on  board ;  of  the  latter, 
the  Congressman  and  Senators  elect,  Col.  Fremont,  Dr.  Gwin, 
Gilbert  and  Wright,  together  with  a  .score  of  the  prominent 
merchants  and  moneyed  men  of  San  Francisco,  and  several  officen 


824  iST.DO&ADO 

of  the  Army  and  Navy.  Mr.  Butler  King  was  returning  from 
his  sui'vey  of  the  country ;  Major  Rucker,  whom  I  have  already 
mentioned  in  connection  with  the  overland  emigration,  and  Major 
Cross,  recently  from  Oregon,  were  also  on  board.  The  character 
of  our  little  community  was  very  different  from  that  which  came 
up  on  the  Panama ;  the  steamer  was  under  better  regulations,  and 
at  meal-time,  especially,  there  was  no  disgraceful  exhibition  of 
(for  want  of  a  better  word)  swinishness,  such  as  I  witnessed  on  the 
former  boat.  We  had  a  mild  and  spring-like  temperature  during 
the  trip,  and  blue  skies,  after  doubling  Cape  Conception. 

We  touched  at  Santa  Barbara  on  the  third  morning  out.  The 
night  had  been  foggy,  and  we  ran  astray  in  the  channel  between 
the  Island  of  Santa  Rosa  and  the  mainland,  making  the  coast  about 
twenty -five  miles  south  of  the  town.  I  did  not  regret  this,  as  it 
gave  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  point  where  the  Coast  Moun- 
tains come  down  to  the  sea,  forming  a  narrow  pass,  which  can  only 
be  tiraveled  at  low  tide,  between  the  precipice  and  the  surf.  It  is 
generally  known  as  the  Rincon,  or  Corner — a  common  Spanish 
term  for  the  jutting  end  of  a  mountain  ;  in  a  Californian  ballad 
(written  before  seeing  the  country,)  I  had  made  it  the  scene  of  an 
imaginary  incident,  giving  the  name  of  Paso  del  Mar — the  Pass 
of  the  Sea — to  the  spot.  I  was  delighted  to  find  so  near  a  corre 
spondence  between  its  crags  of  black  rock,  its  breakers  and  reaches 
of  spray-wet  sand,  and  the  previous  picture  in  my  imagination. 
The  village  of  Santa  Barbara  is  charmingly  situated,  on  a  warm 
slope  above  the  roadstead,  down  to  which  stretch  its  fields  of  whea 
and  barley.  Behind  it,  on  a  shelf  of  the  mountain,  stands  the 
Mission,  or  Episcopal  Residence  of  Santa  Barbara,  its  white 
arched  corridors  and  tall  square  towers  brightly  relieved  against  the 
pine  forests  in  the  distance.     Above  and  beyond  all,  the  Moud 


VOYAGE    DOWN     THE    COAST.  325 

tain  of  Santa  Ynez  lifts  its  bold  and  sterile  ramparts,  like  ar 
anscaleable  barrier  against  the  inland. 

"We  lay-to  in  the  road  for  several  hours,  shipping  supplies.  Tht 
shore  was  so  near  that  we  could  watch  the  vaqueros.  as  they  gal- 
loped among  the  herds  and  flung  their  lariats  over  the  horns  of  the 
doomed  beeves.  An  immense  whale  lay  stranded  on  the  beacb 
like  the  hull  of  some  unlucky  vessel.  As  we  steamed  down  the 
coast,  in  the  afternoon,  we  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  snowy 
range  which  divides  the  rich  vine-land  of  Los  Angeles  from  the 
Tulare  Plains.  At  daybreak  the  next  momiog  we  were  in  the 
harbor  of  San  Diego,  which  was  little  changed  since  my  visit  in 
August ;  the  hills  were  somewhat  greener,  and  there  were  a  few 
more  tents  pitched  around  the  hide-houses.  Thence  away  and 
down  the  rugged  Peninsula — past  the  Bay  of  Sebastian  Viscaino, 
the  headland  of  San  Lorenzo  and  the  white  deserts  of  sand  that 
stretch  far  inland — around  the  jagged  pyramids  and  hollow 
caverns  of  Cape  San  Luca.s — beyond  the  dioramic  glimpse 
of  San  Jose,  and  into  the  mouth  of  the  Californian  Gulf, 
where  we  were  struck  aback  by  a  norther  that  strained  our 
vessel's  sinews  and  troubled  the  stomachs  of  the  passengers. 
The  next  morning  we  groped  about  in  the  dark,  hearing  a 
breaker  here  and  seeing  a  rock  there,  but  the  captain  at  last 
hit  upon  the  right  clue  and  ran  us  out  of  the  maze  into  a 
gush  of  dazzling  sunshine  and  tropic  heat,  which  lay  upon 
the  islands  and  palmy  shores  of  Mazatlan  Harbor. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

MAZATLAN. 

I  TOOK  leave  of  my  friends  and  mess-mates,  receiving  many 
gloomy  predictions  and  warnings  of  danger  from  the  most  of  them, 
and  went  ashore  with  the  captain,  in  the  ship's  boat.  The  water 
is  very  shallow,  from  within  a  mile  of  the  landing,  and  abounds 
vrith  rocks  which  rise  nearly  to  the  surface.  Two  of  these  are 
called  The  Turtles,  from  an  incident  which  is  told  at  the  expense 
of  an  officer  of  the  British  Navy.  He  had  just  reached  Mazatlan, 
and  on  his  first  visit  to  the  shore,  knowing  that  the  waters  con- 
tained turtle,  had  provided  himself  with  rope  and  harpoon,  and 
took  his  station  in  the  bow  of  the  boat.  The  men  rowed  for 
some  time  without  interruption,  but  suddenly,  at  a  whisper  from 
the  officer,  backed  their  oars  and  awaited  the  throw.  The  har- 
poon was  swung  quickly  to  give  it  impetus  ;  the  water  flew  as  it 
descended;  "  hit !"  shouted  the  officer.  And  it  was  hit — so  hard 
that  the  harpoon  banged  back  again  firom  the  round  face  of  Ibn 
rock. 

We  landed  on  the  beach,  where  we  were  instantly  surroundeo 
with  the  peons  of  the  Custom  House,  in  white  shirts  and  panta- 
loons. The  baggage  was  carried  under  the  portico  of  an  adob« 
house  opposite  the  landing,  where  it  was  watched  by  one  of  tba 
tfficuvls.    Mr   Mott,of  Mazatlan,  who  came  passenger  in  the  Ore" 


A    CHINESE    BONIFACE.  327 

gon,  W9S  well-known  to  all  the  authorities  of  the  place,  and  1 
found,  after  losing  much  time  in  getting  a  permit  to  have  my  lug 
gage  passed,  that  it  had  all  been  sent  to  his  house  without  ex- 
amination. My  next  care  was  to  find  a  lodging-place.  There  was 
the  meson,  a  sort  of  native  caravanserai;  the  Ballo  de  Oro, 
(Golden  Ball,)  a  tavern  after  the  Mexican  fashion,  which  ia 
comfortless  enough  ;  and  finally  the  Fonda  de  Canton,  a  Chinese 
hotel,  kept  by  Luen-Sing,  one  of  the  most  portly  and  dignified  of 
all  the  Celestials.  His  broad  face,  nearly  equal  in  circumferencfl 
to  the  gong  which  Chin-Ling,  the  waiter,  beat  three  times  a  day 
at  the  door,  beamed  with  a  paternal  regard  for  his  customers, 
flis  oblique  eyes,  in  spite  of  all  their  twinklings  after  the  main 
chance,  looked  a  good-natured  content,  and  his  capacious  girth 
rfpoke  too  well  of  fat  living  to  admit  of  a  doubt  about  the  quality 
i»f  his  table.  There  was  no  resisting  the  attractions  of  Luen- 
Sing's  hotel,  as  advertised  in  his  own  person,  and  thither,  accord- 
ingly, I  went. 

The  place  was  overrun  by  our  passengers,  who  nearly  exhausted 
the  supplies  of  eggs,  milk  and  vegetables  in  the  market.  The 
Fonda  de  Canton  was  thronged ;  all  the  rooms  were  filled  with 
tables,  and  gay  groups,  like  children  enjoying  a  holiday,  were  clus- 
tered in  the  palm-shaded  court-yard.  Chin-Ling  could  not  half 
perform  the  commands  ;  he  was  called  from  every  side  and  scolded 
by  everybody,  but  nothing  could  relax  the  gravity  of  his  queer 
yellow  face.  The  sun  was  intensely  hot  until  near  evening,  and  I 
made  myself  quite  feverish  by  running  after  luggage,  permits  and 
passports.  I  was  not  sorry  when  the  gun  of  the  steamer,  at  dusk, 
signalized  her  departure,  and  I  was  left  to  the  company  and  hos- 
pitalities of  my  friend  Luen-Sing.  After  the  monte  players  had 
dosed  their  bank  in  one  of  the  rooms  and  the  customers  had  with- 


821*  ELDORADO. 

drawn,  Chin -Ling  carried  in  a  small  cot  and  made  me  a  verr 
good  bed,  on  which  I  slept  nearly  as  soundly  as  if  it  had  been  soft 
plank. 

I  took  a  ramble  about  the  city  in  the  clear  coolness  of  the  morn- 
ing.    Its  situation  is  very  peculiar  and  beautiful.     Built  at  tho 
foot  of  a  bold  hill,  it  stands  on  the  neck  of  a  rocky,  volcanic  headland, 
fronting  the  sea  on  each  side,  so  that  part  of  the  city  looks  up  the 
Californian  Gulf  and  part  down  the  coast  towards  San  Bias      The 
houses  are  stone,  of  a  white,  pink  or  cream-color,  with  heavy 
Erched  entrances  and  cool  court-yards  within.     The  contrast  oi 
their  clear,  bright  fronts,  with  the  feathery  tops  of  the  cocoa-palm, 
seen  under  a  du,zzling  sky,  gives  the  city  a  rich  oriental  character, 
reminding  me  of  descriptions  of  Smyrna.     The  houses  are  mostly 
a  single  story  in  height,  but  in  the  principal  street  there  are  several 
magnificent  buUdings  of  two  stories,  with  massive  cornices  and 
large  balconied  windows.     The  streets  are  clean  and  cheerful,  and 
the  principal  shops  are  as  large,  showy  and  tastefully  arranged  as 
those  of  Paris  or  New  York.     At  night,  especially,  when  they  are 
brilliantly  lighted  and  all  the  doors  and  windows  are  opened,  dis- 
playing the  gaudy  shawls,  scarfs  and  sarapes  within  ;  when  the 
whole  population  is  out  to  enjoy  the  pleasant  air,  the  men  in  theii 
white  shirts  and  the  women  in  their  bewitching  rebosas  ;  when 
some  native  band  is  playing,  just  far  enough  distant  to  drown  the 
discordance  ;  when  the  paper  lanterns  of  the  fruit-vendf^rs  gleam 
at  every  corner,  and  the  aristocratic  seiioritas  smoke  their  paper 
sigars  in  the  balconies  above — Mazatlan  is  decidedly  the  gayesi 
and  liveliest  little  city  on  the  Continent. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  my  morning  stroll.  The  sun  was  already 
ghining  hotly  in  the  streets,  and  the  mellow  roar  of  the  surf  on  th« 
nortliem  side  of  the  promontory  tempted  my  steps  in  that  direo 


tttE    AtA.08l»HERE    OF    THE    CALIPORMAN    GULF.  329 

don.  I  threaded  the  narrow  alleys  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town 
lined  with  cactus  hedges,  behind  which  stood  the  thatched  bamboo 
huts  of  the  uatives,  exactly  similar  to  those  on  the  Isthmas 
Q-ang3  of  men,  naked  to  the  waist,  were  at  work,  carrying  on  their 
heads  large  faggots  of  dye-wood,  with  which  some  of  the  vessels  in 
the  harbor  were  being  freighted.  I  reached  a  shaded  cove  among 
the  rocks,  where  I  sat  and  looked  out  on  the  dark-blue  expansi 
of  the  Grulf.  The  air  was  as  transparent  as  crystal  and  the 
breakers  rolled  in  with  foam  and  delightful  freshness,  to  bathe  the 
shelly  samd  at  my  feet.  Three  craggy  islands  off  the  shore  looked 
to  be  within  gunshot,  owing  to  the  purity  of  the  atmosphere,  yet 
their  scarred  sides  and  ragged  crests  were  clothed  in  the  purple  oi 
distance.  The  region  about  the  mouth  of  the  Gulf  of  California 
enjoys  an  unvarying  clearness  of  climate,  to  which  there  is  pro- 
bably no  parallel  on  the  earth.  At  Cape  San  Lucas,  the  rising 
and  setting  of  a  star  is  manifest  to  the  naked  eye.  Two  or  three 
years  frequently  pass  without  a  drop  of  rain.  There  is,  however, 
a  season  of  about  a  week's  duration,  occurring  in  some  of  the 
winter  months,  when  the  soil  is  kept  continually  moist  from  the 
atmosphere.  Not  a  cloud  is  to  be  seen  ;  the  sun  is  apparently  at 
bright  as  ever  ;  yet  a  fine,  gauzy  film  of  moisture  pervades  the  air, 
settles  gradually  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  and  performs  the  ser- 
vice of  rain. 

I  saw  an  interesting  picture  one  evening,  in  front  of  the  Theatre 
A  large  band  was  stationed  near  the  door,  where  they  performed 
waltzes  and  polkas  in  excellent  style — an  idea  no  doubt  derived 
from  "  Scudder's  Balcony"  or  the  gambling-hells  of  San  Francisco 
It  had  the  effect,  at  least,  to  draw  a  dense  crowd  of  the  lower 
orders  to  the  place,  and  increase  the  business  of  (he  traders  in 
irmte  and  drinks.     A.  military  band,  of  trumpets  alone,  marched 


830  ELDORADO 

np  and  down  the  principal  street,  blowing  long  blasts  of  piercing 
sound  that  affected  one  like  the  shock  of  an  electro-galvanic  bat 
tery.  Soldiers  were  grouped  around  the  door  of  the  Theatre,  with 
stacked  arms,  and  the  tables  of  dealers  in  fruit  and  provisions  were 
anged  along  the  walls.  Over  their  braziers  of  charcoal  simmered 
the  pans  of  manteca^  (lard,  j  near  which  stood  piles  of  tortillas  and 
dishes  of  fowl  mixed  with  chUi  Colorado^  ready  to  be  served  up  at 
a  medio  the  plate.  Bundles  of  sugar-cane  were  heaped  upon  the 
groimd,  and  oranges,  bananas,  and  other  frmts  spread  upon  mala 
beside  which  their  owners  sat.  There  were  tables  covered  with 
porous  earthern  jars,  containing  cool  and  refreshing  drinks  made 
of  orange  juice,  cocoa  milk,  barley  flour,  and  other  wholesome  in- 
gredients. 

The  market-place  presents  a  most  picturesque  appearance, 
whether  by  day  or  night.  It  is  a  small  square,  on  the  steep  side 
of  the  hill,  reached  by  narrow  alleys,  in  which  are  to  be  found  all 
the  articles  most  in  demand  by  the  lower  classes — earthenware 
after  the  old  Aztec  fashion,  flaming  calicoes,  sarapes,  rebosas  and 
broad  Guayaquil  sombreros.  The  place  is  filled  with  square, 
umbrella-like  stands  or  canopies  of  palm-leaves,  under  which  are 
spread  on  the  ground  all  kinds  of  vegetables,  fruit  and  grain  that 
grow  in  the  vicinity,  to  be  had  at  low  prices.  Among  the  fruita  I 
noticed  a  plump  green  berry,  with  a  taste  like  a  strawberry  and 
gooseberry  combined  ;  they  were  called  by  the  natives,  ardlanes 
At  night,  the  square  was  lighted  by  flaring  lamj  s  or  torches  of 
Bome  resinous  wood. 

The  proximity  of  California  had  increased  in  a  striking  manner 
the  growth  and  activity  of  Mazatlan.  Houses  were  going  up  in 
ill  parts  of  the  towns,  and  the  prices  of  articles  in  the  shops  wer; 
little  below  the  San  Francisco  standard.     At  a  tailorin^r  establish 


PREPARING    TO    START.  83] 

ment  I  was  asked  $20  for  a  pair  of  Mexican  calzoneros,  and  $25 
for  a  cloth  traveling  jackets-sums  entirely  above  my  reach.  I 
purchased  a  good  Panama  hat  for  $5,  and  retaining  my  suit  of 
corduroy  and  shirt  of  blue  flannel,  set  about  hunting  for  a  mule 
There  were  about  fifty  emigrants  in  the  place,  who  had  come  in  a 
few  days  previous,  from  Durango  ;  but  their  animals  had  all  been 
disposed  of  to  the  Mexican  traders,  at  very  low  prices.  I  was  di- 
rected to  the  meson,  where  I  found  a  number  for  sale,  in  the  cor- 
ral.  The  owners  offered  to  sell  me  a  caballo  sillado  (a.  saddled 
and  bridled  horse)  for  $100,  or  a  tolerable  mule  for  $80,  but 
seemed  to  think  I  would  prefer  a.frisone,  (an  American  horse,)  at 
$100,  unsaddled.  After  riding  a  number  of  mules  around  the 
corral,  I  made  choice  of  a  small  brown  one,  for  which  $45  was 
asked,  but  which  I  obtained  for  $30.  One  of  the  emigrants  sold 
me  his  saddle  and  bridle  for  $5  ;  I  added  a  good  lariat  and  blanket, 
and  was  thoroughly  equipped  for  the  journey. 

It  now  remained  to  have  my  passport  arranged,  for  which  the 
signature  of  the  President  of  the  City  Council  was  requisite.  After 
a  great  deal  of  search,  I  found  the  prefer  place,  where  a  sort  oi 
Alcalde,  who  was  settling  a  dispute  between  two  Indians,  wrote 
a  visto,  and  directed  me  to  call  on  the  President,  Don  Luis  AbiolL 
This  second  visit  cost  me  several  hours,  but  at  last  I  succeeded  ir 
discovering  Don  Luis,  who  was  busily  engaged  behind  the  counter 
of  his  grocery  store,  in  a  little  building  near  the  market-place. 
He  stopped  weighing  sugar  to  affix  his  signature  to  the  passport, 
received  my  "  mil  gradas  .'"  with  a  profound  bow  and  turned  again 
(o  his  customers. 

The  emigrants  expressed  great  astonishment  at  my  fool-hardi- 
ness, as  they  termed  it,  in  undertaking  the  journey  through  to 
V  vf »  Cruz.     These  men,  some  of  whom  had  come  overlaid  firoin 


B32  ELDORADO 

Chihuahua  »nd  some  from  Matamoras,  mSiated  most  strenuousl} 
that  I.  should  not  start  alone.  The  Mexicans,  they  said,  were 
robbers,  to  a  man  ;  one's  life,  even,  was  not  safe  among  them,  and 
tiheir  bitter  hostility  to  Americans  would  subject  me  to  continual 
insult.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ?"  said  a  tall,  raw-boned  Yankee  ; 
"  they  actually  rocked  us  !"  This  gentle  proceeding,  I  found,  on 
further  inquiry,  had  been  occasioned  by  the  emigrants  breaking 
their  contract  with  their  guide.  I  therefore  determined  to  follow 
the  plan  I  had  adopted  in  Califomia,  and  to  believe  nothing  that  I 
had  not  seen  with  my  own  eyes.  "  I've  traveled  in  the  country 
and  I  know  all  about  it,"  was  the  remark  with  which  I  was  con- 
stantly greeted  ;  "  you'U  very  soon  find  that  I  was  right."  To 
escape  from  the  annoyance  of  these  counsels  and  warnings,  I  has- 
tened my  preparations,  and  was  ready  for  departure  on  the  second 
morning  after  my  arrival, 

Luen-Sing,  who  had  traveled  over  the  road  once,  as  far  as  To- 
pic, told  me  I  should  find  it  toilsome  but  safe.  The  Celestials 
assisted  me  in  packing  my  scanty  luggage  behind  the  saddle,  and 
enjoined  on  me  the  promise  of  patronizing  the  Fonda  de  Caidvn,^ 
when  I  returned  to  Mazatlan.  I  took  my  final  cup  of  chocoh-tf 
on  the  old  table  in  the  corridor,  had  a  last  talk  with  Chin-Linp 
about  the  gold-diggings,  shook  hands  with  the  whole  yellow-faced, 
long-eyed  crew,  mounted  my  mule  and  started  up  the  main  street, 
in  the  breathless  heat  of  a  noonday  sun.  I  doubled  the  comer  oi 
the  hill,  passing  the  Plaza  de  Toros^  (an  arena  for  bull-fights,) 
and  the  scattering  huts  of  the  suburbs,  till  I  reached  the  garita^ 
near  the  sea.  Here,  an  officer  of  the  customs,  who  was  lounging  in 
the  shade,  pointed  out  the  road  to  the  old  Presidio  of  Mazatlan, 
which  I  took,  feeling  very  warm,  very  lonely  and  a  little  dispirited 
»*t  the  ride  of  twelve  hundred  miles  which  lay  before  roe. 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

TRAVEL    IN    THE    TIERRA    CALIENTE. 

It  was  a  cloudless  noon.  The  sun  burned  down  on  the  sand 
and  quivering  sea,  and  the  three  islands  in  the  Grulf  seemed  vitri- 
fying in  the  blue  heat  of  the  air.  Riding  slowly  down  to  the  arid 
level  of  a  dried-up  marsh,  over  which  my  path  lay,  I  met  an  arri- 
ero,  of  whom  I  asked  the  distance  to  the  Presidio.  "  No  Uega 
t<?V»"  said  he  ;  "  la  mula  no  anda  nada  ;  es  muy  Jlojo  "  (You'll  not 
^et  there  to-day  ;  your  mule  don't  go  at  aU  ;  "  he's  very  lazy.") 
My  heart  misgave  me  for  a  moment,  for  his  criticism  of  the  mule 
was  true  ;  but,  seeing  that  my  spur  had  as  yet  drawn  no  blood,  I 
broke  a  stick  from  the  thicket  and  belabored  him  with  hand  and 
foot.  I  passed  a  few  plantations,  with  fenced  fields,  near  the  town, 
and  afterwards  took  to  the  sandy  chapparal  near  the  sea. 

The  foliage  of  a  tropical  winter,  on  this  coast,  is  not  very  attrac- 
tive. There  is  a  season  when  the  growth  is  suspended — when  the 
bud  closes,  the  leaf  faUs  and  the  bough  gathers  sap  for  a  long  time 
of  splendid  bloom.  Only  the  glossy  green  of  the  lemon,  mango 
lad  sycamore  remains  ;  the  rest  of  the  wood  takes  a  grayish  cas» 
from  its  many  half-clothed  boughs,  among  which  rise  the  strange, 
gloomy  pillars  of  the  cereus  giganieus,  often  more  than  forty  feet 
in  height.     After  making  the  circuit  of  a  spacious  bay   I  came  to 


B34  ELDORADO. 

a  cluster  of  fishing  huts  on  the  shore,  about  three  leagues  from 
Mazatlan.  Beyond  these  the  road  turned  among  low  hills,  covered 
with  the  gray,  wintry  woods,  as  far  as  eye  Jould  reach.  Gaudy 
parrots  flew  screaming  among  the  boughs  ;  large  brown  birds,  with 
hooked  bills  sat  musing  by  the  road,  and  in  the  shady  spots,  I 
heard  the  tender  coo  of  the  dove — the  sweet  emblem  of  peace  and 
domestic  affection,  to  which  no  clime  is  alien — ^which  haunts  all 
lands  and  all  zones,  where  beats  the  human  heart  whose  softer 
emotions  it  typifies. 

I  was  toiling  along  in  the  heat,  torturing  my  conscience  as  mncli 
as  the  mule's  flanks,  when  a  couple  of  rancheros,  riding  behind 
me,  came  up  with  a  good-humored  greeting  and  proposed  joining 
company.  The  foremost,  a  merry  old  native,  of  mixed  blood, 
commenced  using  his  whip  on  my  mule's  back  and  I  soon  found 
that  the  latter  could  keep  up  a  sharp  trot  for  an  hour,  without 
trouble.  Thanks  to  my  self-constitdted  mozo,  I  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Rio  Mazatlan,  opposite  the  Presidio,  two  hours  be- 
fore sunset.  The  old  man  invited  me  to  pass  the  night  at  his 
ranche,  which  was  near  to  hand,  and  I  willingly  complied.  He 
turned  his  own  beast  loose,  and  started  to  a  neighboring  i-anche, 
for  an  armful  of  oja  (the  fodder  of  maizej  for  my  mule.  Mean- 
while, I  Avalked  down  to  the  river,  to  refresh  myself  with  a  bath. 
The  beauty  of  the  scene  kept  me  from  the  water  for  a  long  time 
On  the  opposite  bank  the  old  walls  of  the  Presidio  towered  above 
the  trees ;  the  valley,  stretching  away  to  the  eastward,  to  a  far^ofl 
line  of  mountains,  out  of  a  notch  in  which  the  river  found  its 
ray,  was  spotted  with  plantations  of  maize,  bananas  and  melons. 
The  rancheros  were  out  at  work,  ploughing  atd  sowing  theii 
grain.  The  fervor  of  the  day  was  over,  and  a  warm,  tempered 
light  was  poured  over  the  landscape.     As  I  laj   clasped  in  tb« 


TWILIGHT    CHAT,    AT   A    RANCHE.  835 

»ft-flowing  crystal  of  the  river,  the  thought  of  another  bath,  on 
that  very  day  four  years  before,  came  suddenly  into  my  mind.  It 
was  my  birth-day ;  but  on  that  other  anniversary  I  had  baptized 
my  limbs  m  the  sparkling  surf  of  the  Mediterranean,  on  the  shore 
f  the  Roman  Campagna.  I  went  back  to  the  ranche  with  that 
ensation  of  half-pain,  half-joy  which  we  feel  when  the  mind  and 
body  are  in  different  places. 

My  mule  was  fed  and  the  old  man  gave  me  a  dish  of  frijoles, 
with  three  tortillas  in  lieu  of  knife  and  fork.  Then  we  sat  down 
in  the  dolicious  twilight,  amid  the  beautiful  repose  of  Nature,  and 
I  answered,  as  well  as  I  could,  the  questions  prompted  by  then 
simple  curiosity.  I  told  them  about  my  country  and  its  climate, 
aad  the  long  journey  I  must  yet  make  to  reach  it,  which  they 
heard  with  evident  interest  and  wonder.  They  were  anxious  to 
know  how  a  steamboat  could  move  against  the  wind,  for  they  had 
been  told  this  was  the  case,  by  their  friends  in  Mazatlan.  The 
nearest  idea  of  it  which  I  could  give  them,  was  by  describing  it  as 
a  sea-carty  with  broad  wheels  rolling  on  the  water.  At  last  the 
t^^filight  deepened  into  night,  and  I  unrolled  my  blankets  to  make 
my  bed.  "  You  must  sleep  to-night  en  el  ser^no,"  said  the  old 
nan  ;  and  a  beautiful,  star-lit  Sereno  it  was.  "  Ah,"  said  his 
wife,  "  what  fine  blankets  !  you  will  sleep  better  than  the  Arch 
bishop  !"  They  then  went  to  their  hammocks  in  the  hut,  and  ) 
lay  down  on  the  earth,  thanking  God  that  the  dismal  forebodings 
which  accompanied  me  out  of  Mazatlan  had  been  so  happily  falsi- 
fied. 

My  kind  host  asked  nothing  in  payment,  when  I  saddled  in  the 
morning,  but  I  insisted  on  giving  him  a  trifle.  "  Vaya  com 
Dios  .'"  said  he,  as  we  shook  hands,  "  and  if  you  go  to  California 
Dring  me  a  little  piece  of  gold  when  you  come  back."    I  forded 


336  Sldorado 

the  river  and  passed  through  old  Mazatlan — a  miserable  villa^^ 
of  huts  with  a  massive  presidio  and  church  in  ruins.  The  morn- 
ing was  fresh  and  cool,  and  the  road  lay  in  shade  for  several 
•nileh  My  mule,  having  no  whip  behind  him,  was  as  lazy  as  evei 
»nd  made  me  the  subject  of  remark  from  all  the  natives  who 
passed.  A  ranchero,  carrying  an  escopette  and  three  live  turkeys 
slung  to  the  saddle,  before  him,  oflFered  his  horse  in  exchange, 
refused  to  trade,  but  an  hour  later,  met  aa  arriero,  with  a  train  o. 
horses,  laden  with  oja.  He  made  the  same  proposition  and  un- 
loaded the  mountainous  stack  under  which  one  of  his  horses  was 
buried,  that  I  might  try  him.  "jEs  mvAf  caminador ,^''  (a  great 
traveler,)  said  the  owner  ;  but  he  was  crooked-legged,  sore-backed 
and  terribly  thin  in  withers  and  flanks.  Looking  at  him  in  front, 
he  seemed  to  have  no  breadth  ;  he  was  like  a  horse  carved  out  of 
plank,  and  I  was  almost  afraid  to  mount,  for  fear  I  should  pull 
him  over  Nevertheless,  he  started  off  briskly  ;  so  without  wast- 
ing words,  I  made  an  even  exchange.  Nothing  was  gained 
however,  in  point  of  dignity,  for  my  brisk  lean  horse  occasioned 
quite  as  many  remarks  as  my  fat  lazy  mule. 

Towards  noon  I  reached  a  little  village  called  Santa  Fe,  where 
I  got  a  breakfast  of  frijoles  and  chopped  sausage,  mixed  with  red- 
pepper — a  dish  called  chorisa — for  a  real.  The  country  1  passed 
was  hilly  and  barren,  with  a  range  of  broken  mountains  between 
mo  and  the  sea.  Crossing  a  ridge  beyond  Santa  Fe,  I  came  upon 
extensive  fields  of  aloes,  cultivated  for  the  vinous  drink  called 
me$eal,  which  is  made  of  their  juice.  In  the  midst  of  them  stood 
the  adobe  town,  of  Agua  Caliente — a  neat  though  scattering  place 
with  a  spacious  church.  I  journeyed  on  for  leagues  in  the  burn- 
ing sun,  over  scorched  hills,  without  water  or  refreshing  verdure 
My  eaminador^  too,  lost  the  little  spirit  he  had  displayed,  and 


EVENING    AT    A    POSADA.  337 

jogged  along  at  a  snail's  pace.  I  suffered  greatly  from  thirst  foi 
several  hours,  till  I  reached  a  broad  arroyo  crossing  the  road, 
where  I  found  a  little  muddy  water  at  the  bottom  of  a  hole 
Some  Indians  who  were  seated  in  the  shade,  near  a  sort  of  camp- 
fire,  put  me  on  the  right  trail  for  Potrerillos,  the  village  where  T 
expected  to  pass  the  night.  A  pleasantly  shaded  path  of  a  league 
took  me  thither  by  sunset. 

My  old  native  friend  on  the  Rio  Mazatlan  told  me  I  coula 
itop  wherever  I  chose,  on  the  road  ;  no  ranchero  would  refuse  to  re- 
jeive  me.  I  accordingly  rode  up  to  the  first  house,  and  inquired  ; 
'  Can  I  stay  here  to-night .'"  "  Si  Senor^^^  was  the  ready  an- 
fwei'.  The  place  was  small,  and  the  people  appeared  impoverished, 
w  I  asked  whether  there  was  a  posada  in  the  place.  "  Go  to  Don 
[poHto,"  said  the  man ;  "  that  is  where  the  estranjeros  stay," 
Don  Ipolito  was  a  Frenchman,  who  had  an  adobe  hut  and  corral 
for  mules,  in  the  centre  of  the  village.  He  was  about  starting  for 
Mazatlan,  but  gave  directions  to  the  women  and  mozos  to  furnish 
me  with  supper,  and  my  horse  with  com  and  oja.  His  instruc- 
tions were  promptly  obeyed ;  I  had  a  table  set  with  chorisa  and 
frijoles,  under  the  thatched  portico  ;  then  a  cup  of  black  coffee 
and  a  puro^  which  I  enjoyed  together,  while  trying  to  comprehend 
the  talk  of  a  very  pretty  girl  of  fifteen  and  a  handsome  young 
ranchero,  evidently  her  lover,  who  sat  near  me  on  a  low  adobe 
wall.  They  were  speaking  of  marriage — that  I  found  at  once 
3ut  another  ranchero — perhaps  a  rival  suitor — named  Pio,  formed 
ieir  principal  topic.  "  Es  sin  verguenza,  Pio"  (He's  a 
Jiaroeless  fellow,  that  Pio,)  was  frequently  repeated  by  both  of 
them. 

My  bed-time  was  not  long  in  coming.     A  boy  was  sent  into  the 
.oft  of  the  hut  for  a  frame. made  of  woven  cane,  which  was  placed 
T5 


338  '  ELDORADO.  • 

on  the  portico,  and  covered  with  a  coarse  matting  I  throw  mj 
blankets  on  it,  using  my  coat  for  a  pillow,  and  was  sound  asleep 
in  five  minutes.  Half  an  hour  might  have  elapsed,  when  I  was 
suddenly  aroused  by  a  sound  like  the  scream  of  a  hundred  fiends 
The  frame  on  which  I  lay  was  rocked  to  and  fro,  and  came  near 
overturning ;  I  sprang  up  in  alarm,  finding  my  bed  in  the  midst  ot 
a  black,  moving  mass,  from  which  came  the  horrid  sound.  It 
proved  to  be  a  legion  of  hogs,  who  had  scented  out  a  few  grains  oi 
corn  in  a  basket  which  had  held  my  horse's  feed,  and  was  placed 
under  the  bed.  The  door  of  the  hut  opened,  and  the  hostess  ap- 
peared with  a  lamp.  At  sight  of  her,  the  beasts  gave  a  hasty 
grunt,  cleared  the  wall  at  one  bound,  and  disappeared.  "  Santa 
Maria .'"  shrieked  the  woman ;  "  son  demonios — son  hijos  dd 
diahlo  !  "  (they  are  demons — they  are  children  of  the  devil !)  I 
feared  that  another  descent  upon  me  would  be  made  after  she  had 
gone  back  to  her  hammock ;  but  I  was  not  molested  again. 

I  arose  in  the  morning,  fed  my  horse,  saddled,  and  was  ofi'  by 
sunrise.  The  town  of  El  Rosario  was  but  four  leagues  distant, 
and  the  road  was  full  of  young  rancheros  in  their  holiday  dresses, 
riding  thither  to  mass.  Three  of  them  joined  company  with  me 
and  tried  to  sell  me  one  of  their  horses.  "  You'll  never  reach 
Tepic  with  that  horse,"  said  they,  "  look  at  ours !"  and  away 
they  would  gallop  for  a  hundred  yards,  stopping  with  one  bound, 
to  wait  for  my  slow-paced  caminador.  They  drew  out  their 
tobacco  and  tinder-boxes,  as  we  rode  along ;  one  of  them,  a  spruce 
young  fellow,  with  a  green  silk  sash  around  his  waist,  rolled  his 
dgarito  in  corn-husk,  smoked  about  one-third  of  it  and  presented 
me  with  the  remainder,  that  I  might  see  how  much  better  ';! 
tasted  than  paper.  The  flavor  was  indeed  mild  and  delightful  I 
puffed  away  an  inch  of  it,  and  then  returned  him  the  stump.     A 


A     PREAkrAST    AT    ELROSAfcIO  339 

naked  boy,  basking  in  the  sun  at  the  door  of  a  hut,  called  out 
'  Yanki  !  "  as  I  passed. 

EI  Rosario  is  built  on  a  beautiful  site,  in  a  broad  valley,  sur- 
rounded by  blue  and  jagged  peaks.  It  has  several  streets  of 
fipacious  stone  houses,  for  the  most  part  ruined,  and  a  church  with 
n  fine  stone  tower  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height.  I  had  to 
cross  the  plaza,  which  was  filled  with  the  rancheros  of  the  noigh- 
borhood,  waiting  for  the  hour  of  mass  ;  my  caminador  was  the 
.subject  of  general  notice,  and  I  was  truly  rejoiced  when  I  had 
hidden  his  raw  bones  from  sight  in  the  court-yard  of  a  fonda. 
The  house  was  kept  by  a  good-natured  old  lady,  and  three  large 
parrots,  who,  (the  parrots)  sat  each  on  a  different  perch,  contin- 
ually repeating:  '"'■  ch.iquitn  perriquito,  bonito,  blanquitoV — thfi 
only  phrase  I  ever  heard  a  Mexican  oarrot  utter,  and  which  may 
oe  thus  translated  :  "  very  little,  pretty  little,  white-little  par- 
rotling  !"  I  ate  my  breakfast  of  beans  and  red-peppers,  chatting 
the  while  with  the  old  lady,  who  was  loud  in  her  praises  of  Tepic, 
whither  I  told  her  I  was  bound.  "  Es  mi  pais,^^  said  she,  "  csww 
pais  predoioy  She  scolded  me  good-humoredly  at  starting,  for 
having  left  my  horse  where  he  might  have  been  stolen,  and  bado 
me  beware  of  the  robbers  ;  but,  thought  I,  who  would  take  such  a 
horse  ? 

Crossing  the  river  of  Rosario,  I  took  a  path  embowered  in  green 
thickets,  through  which  glided  multitudes  of  macaws  and  tufted 
birds  of  gay  plumage.  At  noon  I  came  into  a  lovely  valley  among 
khe  mountains,  and  followed  a  stream  shaded  by  splendid  syca- 
mores and  palms.  Little  patches  of  meadow  land  slept  like  stiU 
lakes  among  the  woods,  with  thatched  ranches  spotting  their 
shores  I  rode  up  to  one  of  these  for  a  drink  of  water,  which  an 
old  man  brought  me  in  a  calabash,  standing  bare-headed  till  T  \ittA 


340  ELDORADO- 

finished  drinking.  The  traDs  soon  after  scattered,  and  I  foun^ 
that  I  had  lost  the  main  road.  In  tliis  emergency  I  mot  a  ran 
chero,  who  told  me  I  had  wandered  far  from  the  right  track,  bui 
that  he  would  act  as  guide.  I  promised  him  a  reward,  if  he  woulii 
accompany  me,  whereupon  he  ran  to  his  hut  for  a  laiiat,  caught  » 
horse  and  sprang  on  his  unsaddled  back.  We  rode  for  more  thao 
two  hours  in  a  foot-path  through  the  depths  of  the  tangled  forest, 
before  striking  the  road.  The  impervious  screen  of  foliage  above 
Dur  heads  kept  off  the  sun  and  turned  the  daylight  into  an  emerald 
gloom.  Taking  leave  of  my  guide,  I  emerged  from  these  lonely 
and  enchanting  shades  upon  the  burnt  upland,  where  the  tall  fan- 
palms  rustled  drearily  in  the  hot  wind.  As  the  afternoon  wore 
away,  another  green  level  of  billowy  foliage  appeared  ahead  ;  the 
bills  lay  behind  me,  and  far  away  to  the  right  I  saw  the  sea-blink 
along  the  edges  of  the  sky. 

Notwithstanding  the  unsurpassed  fertility  of  soil  and  genial 
character  of  climate,  this  region  is  very  scantily  settled,  except  in 
the  broad  river-bottoms  opening  towards  the  sea.  There,  under 
the  influence  of  a  perpetual  summer,  the  native  race  becomes  in- 
dolent and  careless  of  the  future.  Nature  does  everything  for 
them  ;  a  small  patch  of  soil  will  produce  enough  maize  and  bananas 
for  a  family,  with  which,  and  the  eternal  frijoles,  they  have  abun- 
dance for  life's  wants.  The  saplings  of  the  woods  furnish  them 
with  posts,  rafters  and  ridge-poles,  the  palm  and  the  cane  with 
thatch  and  bedding.  They  are  exempt  from  all  trouble  as  to 
their  Bu})sistence  ;  the  blue  ramparts  of  the  Sierra  Madre  on  one 
side,  and  the  silver  streak  of  the  sea  on  the  other,  enclose  Iheii 
world  They  grow  up  lithe  and  agUe  in  the  free  air,  mate,  wax 
old  and  die,  making  never  a  step  out  of  the  blind  though  contented 
round  which  their  falhers  walked  before  them.     I  do  not  bclicvi 


tHE    HOSTESS    OF    A    MESOM.  ^45 

that  a  more  docile  cr  kindly-disposed  people  exists  than  thest! 
ranchei  os.  In  all  uiy  intercoui-se  with  them  I  was  treated  wilh 
unvarying  honesty,  and  with  a  hospitality  as  sincere  as  it  was 
courteous  and  respectful.  During  all  my  travels  in  the  Ticrr*^ 
Caliontc,  1  was  never  imposed  upon  as  a  stranger  nor  insulted  as 
D  American. 

My  resting-place  the  thu-d  night  was  the  village  of  Escuinapa 
where  1  found  a  meson,  kept,  or  at  least  managed  by  a  lady  whose 
kindness  and  cheerfulness  were  exactly  in  proportion  to  her  size  , 
that  is,  they  were  about  as  broad  as  they  were  long.  She  was  a  fast 
friend  of  the  Americans,  and  spoke  with  rapture  of  the  promptness 
with  which  all  the  emigrants  whom  she  had  entertamed,  had  paid 
their  bUls.  Her  ovrn  countrymen,  she  said,  were  slippery  cus- 
tomers ;  they  frequently  ran  off  without  paying  a  claco.  She 
talked  of  going  to  California  ;  she  thought  if  she  were  to  establish 
a  meson  in  the  diggings,  all  the  emigrants  who  had  passed  through 
Escuinapa  would  patronize  her.  "  They  are  all  good  people,'' 
said  she  ;  "  I  like  them  as  well  as  if  they  were  my  brothers,  and  1 
am  sure  they  would  come  to  visit  me."  An  old  man,  who  seemed 
to  be  her  husband,  sat  swinging  in  the  hammock,  lifting  his  feel 
high  enough  that  his  blue  velvet  calzoneros  should  not  be  soiled  on 
the  floor.  I  had  an  excellent  dinner  of  eggs,  fish  and  chocolate, 
finishing  with  a  delicate  dgarito  which  the  corpulent  hostess  pre- 
pared for  me.  Two  or  three  Mexican  travelers  arrived  for  the 
lUght  and  took  possession  of  the  cane  bed-frame  and  benches  in  the 
room,  leaving  me  only  the  cold  adobe  floor.  "  "Will  you  lake  out 
your  saddle  and  bridle  '"  requested  the  old  kdy ;  "  las  sthora 
are  going  to  sleep  here."  "  But  where  am  I  to  sleep  ?"  I  asked 
*  Con  migo  .'"  was  the  immediate  answer.  "  Como  ?''  said  1 
surprised  and  alarmed  ;  I  was  hon  or-struck  and  must  have  looked 


342  ELDORADO. 

BO,  for  she  seemed  amused  at  my  bewilJeriLcut.  "  Come!"  she 
replied,  and  took  up  the  lamp.  I  shouldered  the  saddle,  and  fol- 
lowed to  a  dark,  wiadowless  closet,  in  the  rear  of  the  hcuse.  It 
was  just  large  enough  to  hold  two  frames,  covered  with  matting, 
ind  some  bags  of  maize  and  barley.  "  This  is  your  bed,"  said  she, 
pointing  to  one  of  them,  "  and  this  is  ours.  1  hope  you  do  not 
object  to  our  sleeping  in  the  same  room."  I  laid  my  saddle  on 
the  frame  indicated,  put  my  head  on  it,  and  slept  soundly  till  tL*" 
early  dawn  shone  through  the  cracks  of  tho  door. 

Leaviiag  Escuinapa,  a  day's  journey  of  fifty  miles  lay  before  me, 
through  aii  uninhabited  country.  I  doubted  the  powers  of  my 
mminador^  but  determined  to  let  him  have  a  fair  trial ;  so  I  gave 
him  a  good  feed  of  corn,  drank  a  cup  of  chocolate,  slung  a  pine- 
apple to  my  saddle-bow,  and  rode  out  of  the  village  in  the  morning 
lusk.  At  first  the  trail  led  through  pleasant  woods,  with  here  and 
here  a  ranche,  but  diverging  more  and  mort  to  the  east,  it  finally 
eame  out  on  a  sandy  plain  bordering  the  leagaes  of  salt  marsh  oii 
the  side  towards  the  sea.  On  the  left  the  mountain  chain  of  the 
Sierra  Madre  rose  high  and  abrupt,  showing  in  its  natura)  but- 
tresses and  ramparts  of  rock  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  peaks  of 
the  Gila  country.  A  spur  of  the  chain  ran  out  towards  the  sea, 
far  in  front,  like  the  headland  of  a  bay.  The  wide  extent  of  salt 
marsh  reaching  from  near  El  Rosario  to  La  Bayona — a  distance 
of  seventy-five  miles,  showed  the  same  recession  of  the  Pacific,  as 
I  had  already  observed  at  Panama  and  Monterey.  The  ancient 
joa-margins  may  still  be  traced  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 

I  jogged  steadily  onward  from  sunrise  till  blazing  noon,  when, 
having  accomplished  about  half  the  journey,  I  stopped  under  a 
palm-tvee  and  let  my  horse  crop  a  little  grass,  while  I  refreshed 
oiyself  with  the  pine-apple.     Not  far  off  thoro  was  a  single  ranche 


BIDE   TO    LA    BATONA.  343 

called  Picdra  Gorda — a  forlorn-looking  place,  where  ane  cannot 
remain  long  without  being  tortured  by  the  sand-flies  Beyond  it, 
there  is  a  natural  dome  of  rock,  twice  the  size  of  St.  Peters,  cap 
f.ing  an  isolated  mountain.  The  broad  intei-vals  of  meadow  be- 
tween the  wastes  of  sand  were  covered  with  groves  of  the  beautiful 
fim-palm,  lifting  their  tufted  tops  agamst  the  pale  violet  of  the 
disl  mt  mountains.  In  lightness,  grace  and  exquisite  symmetry, 
the  Palm  is  a  perfect  type  of  the  rare  and  sensuous  expression  of 
Beauty  in  the  South.  The  first  sight  of  the  tree  had  nearly 
charmed  me  into  disloyalty  to  my  native  Pine  ;  but  when  the 
wind  blew,  and  I  heard  the  sharp,  dry,  metallic  rustle  of  its  leaves, 
I  retained  the  old  allegiance.  The  truest  interpreter  of  Beauty  is 
in  the  voice,  and  no  tree  has  a  voice  like  the  Pine,  modulated  U 
a  rythmic  accord  with  the  subtlest  flow  of  Fancy,  touched  with  a 
human  sympathy  for  the  expression  of  Hope  and  Love  and  Sor- 
row, and  sounding  in  an  awful  undertone,  to  the  darkest  excess 
of  Passion. 

Making  the  circuit  of  the  bay,  the  road  finally  doubled  the  last 
mountain-cape,  and  plunged  into  dark  green  thickets,  fragrant 
with  blossoms.  I  pushed  on  hour  after  hour,  the  pace  of  my  cam- 
inador  gradually  becoming  slower,  and  sunset  approached  without 
any  sign  of  "Bayona's  hold."  Two  Indians,  mounted  on  small 
horses,  came  down  by  a  winding  trail  from  the  hills,  and  rode  a 
little  in  advance  of  me.  "  No  tiene  uste  miedo  de  viajar  solo  ?*' 
( Aie  jou  not  afraid  to  travel  alone  .')  said  one  of  them.  "  What 
should  I  be  afraid  of.'"  I  asked  in  return.  "  The  robbers."  "1 
3hould  like  to  see  them ;"  I  said.  "  Tteiu  mtcc/w  valor,''^ 
remarked  one  to  the  other.  They  then  spoke  of  my  tired  horse, 
»nd  looked  admiringly  at  my  blankets,  asking  me  first  to  make  a 
gift  of  them,  then  to  sell  them,  and,  finally,  to  let  them  carrj 


844  SLDORADU. 

Uicm  bcMnd  their  own  saddles.  I  refused  them  very  decidedly 
and  they  trotted  in  advance.  At  the  next  bend  of  the  road, 
however,  I  saw  through  the  trees  that  they  waited  till  I  uearlj 
overtook  them,  when  they  slowly  moved  forward.  The  repetitior 
of  this  roused  my  suspicions ;  taking  off  a  heavy  pair  of  gloves,  1 
pulled  out  my  pistol,  pat  on  a  fresh  cap,  and  kept  it  in  my  right 
band.  I  believe  they  must  have  been  watching  my  motions,  for, 
instead  of  waiting  as  usual,  they  dashed  off  suddenly  at  a  gallop. 

The  sun  went  down  ;  the  twilight  faded,  and  the  column  of  the 
zodiacal  light  shortened  to  the  horizon,  as  I  walked  behind  my 
caminador,  looking  for  La  Bayona.  At  last  I  came  to  a  river, 
with  two  or  three  ranches  on  its  banks ;  in  front  of  them  was  a 
large  fire,  with  several  men  standing  about  it.  One  of  them 
offered  to  accompany  me  to  the  town,  which  was  near.  On  the 
way,  he  expatiated  on  the  great  number  of  rabbits  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  lamented  that  he  had  no  powder  to  shoot  them,  winding 
up  with :  "  Perhaps,  Senor,  you  might  give  me  a  little  ;  you  can 
easily  buy  more  when  you  reach  Acaponeta."  I  poured  out  hall 
the  contents  of  my  flask  into  a  corner  of  his  shirt,  which  he  held 
up  to  receive  it ;  he  then  pointed  out  the  fording-place,  and  1 
crossed  to  La  Bayona,  where  my  poor  horse  had  rest  and  good 
feed  after  his  hard  day's  journey.  There  was  a  dirty  little  mison 
in  the  place,  a  bare  room.  In  which  was  given  me  for  two  reales, 
nd  a  supper  of  tortillas  and  frijoles  for  a  medio  (6^  cents. J 

The  landlord  and  one  of  his  friends  talked  with  me  a  long 
while  about  the  United  States.  "  Tell  me,"  said  the  latter,  '*  is 
it  true  what  Don  Carlos,  an  American  that  was  here  last  spring, 
told  me — that  there  is  a  machine  in  your  country  in  which  you 
look  at  the  moon,  and  it  seems  to  be  twenty  feet  long .?"  ] 
assured  him  it  was  perfectly  true,  for  I  had  often  seen  the  inoov 


itEXICAN    ANTICIPATIONS.  3.]^5 

fa  it.  "  Is  it  also  true,"  he  continued,  "  that  in  the  United 
States  a  man  jjays  only  one  dollar  a  year,  and  sends  all  his  chil 
dren  to  school  for  nothing  ? — and,  then,  when  they  have  p;onfl 
twelve  years  to  school,  they  are  fit  for  any  business?  Ah,  how 
grand  that  is !  how  much  better  than  here !  Now,  I  do  not 
know  how  to  read  at  all.  Why  is  it  tha'  everything  is  so  fortunate 
m  the  United  States  ?"  "  Because,"  said  the  other,  "  it  is  a 
nation  mup  podirosa.''^  "I  have  heprd  that  there  are  several 
millions  of  people  in  it."  "  That  is  Irus,"  rejoined  the  other, 
"  and  that  is  the  reason  why  all  the  Amr  ricans  we  see  are  so  much 
wiser  than  we  arc."  I  was  deeply  i£»^«rested  in  their  naive 
remarks.  In  fact,  not  only  here,  but  fxroughout  all  western 
Mexico,  1  found  none  of  the  hostility  to  Americans  which  had 
been  predicted  for  me,  but  on  the  reverse,  a  decided  partiality 
In  speaking  of  us,  the  natives  exhibited  (and  I  say  it  not  with  any 
feeling  of  national  pride,)  the  liking  which  men  bear  to  their 
superiors.  They  acknowledged  our  greater  power  and  intelligence 
as  a  nation,  without  jealousy,  and  with  an  anticipation  rather  than 
a  fear,  that  our  rule  will  one  day  be  extended  over  them. 

The  next  morning  I  rode  to  Acaponeta,  four  leagues  distant,  by 
a  pleasant  road  over  low  hills.  The  scenery  was  hic;hly  picturesque , 
the  town  lies  in  the  lap  of  a  wide  valley,  nearly  encircled  by  moun- 
tains which  rise  one  above  another,  the  farthest  st'll  the  highest, 
ike  the  seats  in  an  amphitheatre.  Their  sides  are  cloven  by 
cmcndous  chasms  and  ravines,  whose  gloom  is  concealed  by  per* 
potual  verdure,  but  the  walls  of  white  rock,  dropping  sheer  down 
many  hundreds  of  feet  from  the  summit,  stand  out  distinctly  in 
the  vaporlcss  atmosphere.  Except  the  church  and  a  few  low 
Adobe  buUdings  around  the  plaza,  Acaponeta  is  formed  entirely  oi 
?ane  huts      I  stopped  at  tie  Meson  ^pI  An^el,  gave  a  basket  of 


346  ELDORADO. 

corn  to  my  horse,  and  ordered  eggs,  beefsteak,  and  chocolate  fo» 
breakfast.  The  cocinera  and  her  daughter  were  two  hours  in  pre 
paring  it,  and  meanwhile  I  sat  in  the  shade  of  an  orange  tree,  be 
side  a  cool  well  in  the  court-yard.  The  women  were  very  talka- 
tive, and  amused  themselves  greatly  with  my  bad  Spanish.  The 
laughter  was  preparing  a  quantity  of  empty  egg-shells  for  the 
Carnival,  by  filling  them  with  finely-minced  paper  of  difierent 
colors  and  sealing  the  ends  again.  In  order  to  show  me  how 
these  were  used,  they  bade  me  take  off  my  hat.  Each  then  took 
an  egg  and  approached  me,  saying,  "  tu  es  mi  bien  amorado^^'' — 
at  the  same  time  breaking  the  shells  on  my  head.  My  hair  was 
completely  filled  with  their  many-colored  contents,  and  it  was 
several  days  before  it  was  clear  of  this  testimony  of  affection. 

I  crossed  another  large  river  at  Acaponeta,  and  went  on  through 
embowered  paths, 

"Under  a  shade  perpetual,  which  never 
Ray  of  the  sun  let  in,  nor  moon. 

Gay  parrots  and  macaws  glanced  in  and  out  amid  the  cool  greeii 
shawdows  ;  lovely  vistas  opened  between  the  boughs  into  the  faerj' 
heart  of  the  wilderness ;  the  trees  were  laced  each  to  each,  by 
vines  each  more  luxuriant  than  themselves  ;  subtile  odors  pervaded 
the  air,  and  large,  yellow,  bell-shaped  flowers  swung  on  their  long 
stems  like  cups  of  gold,  tremulous  in  the  chance  rays  of  sunshine 
Here  and  there,  along  the  ledges  of  the  mural  mountains  on  my 
left,  I  noted  the  smoke  of  Indian  camp-fires,  which,  as  night  ap- 
proached, sparkled  like  beacons.  I  intended  to  have  stopped  at 
a  ranche  called  San  Miguel,  but  passed  it  unknowingly,  and 
Qiii^ht  found  me  on  the  road.  A  friendly  ranchero  pointed  uut  to 
tne  a  path  which  led  to  fi  hut,  but  I  soon  lost  it,  and   >vandere^ 


ELEVATED    LODGINGS.  817 

about  at  random  on  the  dark  fenceless  meadows.  At  last  I  beard 
a  dog's  bark — the  sure  sign  of  habitation — and,  following  th« 
sound,  came  to  a  small  ranche. 

I  was  at  once  given  permission  to  stay,  and  the  women  went  to 
work  on  the  tortillas  for  my  supper.  I  swung  oflf  my  fatigue  in  » 
nammock,  and  supped  by  starlight  on  the  food  of  the  Aztecs — tlie 
everlasting  tortilla,  which  is  a  most  nourishing  and  palatable  cake 
▼hen  eaten  fresh  from  the  hot  stone  on  which  it  is  baked.  There 
were  several  dogs  about  the  ranche,  and  the  biggest  of  thcu' 
showed  a  relentless  hostility  towards  me.  "  El  Chucho  don't  liko 
you,"  said  the  ranchero  ;  "  he'll  bite  if  he  can  get  hold  of  you ; 
you  had  better  climb  up  there  and  sleep,"  and  he  pointed  to  a 
sort  of  cane  platform  used  for  drying  fruit,  and  raised  on  poles 
about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground.  I  took  my  blankets,  climbed 
up  to  the  frail  couch,  and  lay  down  under  the  stars,  with  Taurus 
at  the  zenith.  El  Chucho  took  his  station  below  ;  as  often  as  I 
turned  on  my  airy  bed  during  the  night,  the  vile  beast  set  up  hia 
howl  and  all  the  dog-herd  howled  in  concert. 

The  next  day  I  breakfasted  at  the  hacienda  of  Buena  Vista  and 
rode  about  six  leagues  further,  to  the  town  of  Rosa  Morada,  (The 
Violet  Rose.)  Just  before  reaching  the  place  I  caught  sight  of  a 
mountain  very  far  to  the  south,  and  recognized  its  outline  as  that 
of  the  Silla  de  San  Juan  (Saddle  of  St.  John,)  which  rises  be- 
hind the  roadstead  of  San  Bias.  This  was  a  welcome  sight, 
for  it  marked  the  first  step  of  my  ascent  to  the  Table-Lani.  I 
was  growing  tired  of  the  Tierra  Caliente  ;  my  face  was  blistertd 
with  the  heat,  and  my  skin  sc  punctured  by  musquitos,  fleas,  sand- 
flies and  venomous  bugs  that  I  resembled  a  patient  in  the  last 
gtage  of  small-pox.  There  was  no  meson  in  Rosa  Morada,  but  a 
Biberable  fosada,  where  I  found  three  Frenchmen,  two  of  whrnj 


3i8  ei.DOftAt>o. 

were  fresh  from  Bordeaux  and  on  their  way  to  California.  The} 
were  all  engaged  about  the  kitchen  fire,  concocting  their  dinner 
which  they  invited  me  to  share  with  them  The  materials  thct 
picked  up  in  the  village  were  not  slighted  in  the  cooking,  foi 
better  vermicelli  I  never  ate.  They  likewise  carried  their  beds 
with  them  and  stretched  their  cot-frames  on  the  airy  portico.  1 
lay  down  on  the  adobes  and  slept  "  like  a  brick." 

I  was  off  at  daylight,  riding  over  an  elevated  plain  towards  the 
Rio  Santiago.  Two  arrieros,  on  their  way  to  Topic,  shared  their 
tortillas  with  me  and  proposed  we  should  join  company.  They 
stopped  two  hours  to  noon,  however,  and  I  left  them.  Urging 
forward  my  despairing  horse,  I  crossed  one  branch  of  the  river  al 
San  Pedro  and  reached  Santiago,  on  the  main  branch,  an  hour  bo- 
fore  sunset.  In  descending  to  the  Rio  Santiago — or,  more  pre- 
perly,  the  Rio  Tololotlan,  its  ancient  Aztec  apellation — I  came 
upon  plantations  of  bananas  and  plantains,  heavy  with  ripening 
fruit.  The  country  showed  signs  of  wealth  and  culture ;  the 
houses  were  large  and  well  built  and  the  fields  divided  by  strong 
fences  of  palm  logs.  All  up  and  down  the  broad  banks  of  the 
river  were  scattered  arrieros,  mules  and  rows  of  pack-saddles, 
while  half  a  dozen  large  canoes  were  plying  backwards  and  for 
wards  with  their  loads.  I  got  into  the  first  vacant  one  with  my 
saddle,  bridle  and  blankets,  taking  a  turn  of  the  lariat  round  my 
horse's  nose.  An  arricro  who  had  passed  me  the  day  previous, 
with  a  horse  as  worn-out  as  my  own,  was  the  other  passenger. 
The  river  is  about  sixty  yards  wide,  and  very  deep  and  swift.  Oui 
horses  swam  bravely  behind  us,  and  I  believe  were  much  the  bet- 
ter for  the  bath. 

I  took  an  instant  liking  to  the  arriero  for  two  reasons :  firstly 
he  had  a  dark,  melancholy,  intellectual  eye  ;  secondly,  he  was  the 


A    NIGHT    OF    HORROR.  349 

only  traveler  1  saw  on  the  road,  whoso  Iiorsc  was  so  woeful  an 
animal  as  mine.  We  started  in  company,  and  soon  grew 
strongly  attached.  At  dusk,  we  reached  a  viUajje  called  Laa 
Vcrritas.  The  inhabitants  were  all  gone  to  Tepic,  except  an  old 
man  and  a  little  boy  who  were  selling  oja  to  a  company  of  mule- 
teers squatted  around  a  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  Nothing 
was  to  be  had  to  eat,  except  some  cheeses  which  one  of  the  latter 
canicd  in  a  wicker  pack.  I  could  get  no  tortillas  for  money,  nOT 
exactly  for  love,  but  compassion  helped  me.  The  wife  of  one  of 
the  men  came  quietly  to  me  as  I  sat  by  my  saddle,  and  slipping 
two  tortillas  into  my  hand,  said  in  a  whisper  :  "  now,  when  you 
buy  the  cheese,  you'll  have  something  to  eat  with  it."  With  a 
cheese  for  two  reals,  my  sworn  friend  and  I  made  a  hearty  supper. 
He  did  for  me  many  kind  little  offices,  with  a  sort  of  meek  fidelity, 
that  touched  me  exceedingly.  After  our  meal  was  finished,  he 
went  into  the  woods  and  brought  me  a  calabash  of  water,  standing 
uncovered  while  I  drank  it.  I  lay  upon  the  ground,  but  all  the 
fleas  in  the  village,  who  had  been  without  sustenance  for  two  days, 
pounced  in  upon  me  in  swarms.  Added  to  this,  every  exposed 
part  of  the  body  was  attacked  by  legions  of  musquitos,  so  that, 
with  such  enemies  without  and  within,  I  never  passed  a  man 
terriblo  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


THE    ASCENT    TO    THE    TABLE-LAND. 


I  WAS  lying  upon  my  back,  with  my  handkerchief  over  my  face, 
trying  to  imagine  that  I  was  asleep,  when  the  welcome  voice  of  tht 
arriero  shouted  in  my  ear  :  "  Ho  !  Placero  !  up  and  saddle ! — the 
mox-ning  is  coming  and  we  must  reach  Tepic  to-day."  We  fed 
our  horses  and  sat  on  the  ground  for  an  hour  before  the  first  streak 
of  dawn  appeared.  Three  or  four  leagues  of  travel  through  a 
rich  meadow-land  brought  us  to  the  foot  of  the  first  ascent  to  the 
table-land.  Our  horses  were  fast  failing,  and  we  got  ofi^  to  walk 
up  the  stony  trail.  "  I  think  we  had  better  keep  very  close  to 
gether,"  said  my  friend  ;  "  these  woods  are  full  of  robbers,  and 
they  may  attack  us."  Our  path  was  fenced  in  by  thorny  thickets 
and  tall  clumps  of  cactus,  and  at  every  winding  we  were  careful 
to  have  our  arms  in  readiness.  We  climbed  the  first  long  ascent 
to  a  narrow  plain,  or  shelf,  from  which  we  ascended  again,  finding 
always  higher  ridges  above  us.  From  the  Abrevadero,  a  sort  of  inn 
or  hospice  standing  alone  in  the  woods,  the  hot,  low  country  we 
left  was  visible  nearly  as  far  as  Acaponeta  ;  to  one  going  to- 
wards Mazatlan,  its  dark-blue  level  might  easily  be  mistaken  for 
the  sea.  The  Silla  de  San  Juan  was  now  to  the  west  of  us,  and 
stood  nearly  five  thousand  feet  in  height.     From  the  top  of  every 


A    COMMERCfAI,    TRANSACTION.  35] 

successive  ridge  we  overlooked  a  great  extent  of  country,  Irokei 
and  cloven  in  all  downward  directions  by  the  a^rency  of  some  pre- 
Adamite  flood,  yet  inclosing  in  many  sheltered  valleys  and  basinn 
spots  of  singulai-  fertility  and  beauty,  which  are  watered  through 
whole  year  from  the  cisterns  of  the  mountains.  It  was  truly,  ai 
the  old  lady  at  El  Rosario  said,  '•'•  un  pais  predoso.^'' 

We  reached  at  noon  a  village  called  El  Ingenio,  about  twelve 
leagues  from  Topic.  It  lies  in  a  warm  valley  planted  with  ba- 
oanas  and  sugar-cane  ;  the  mountain  streams  are  made  to  turn  a 
ouiiiber  of  mills,  from  which  the  place  probably  derives  its  name. 
Here  the  road  from  San  Bias  runs  up  through  a  narrow  gorge 
md  joins  that  from  Mazatlan.  We  walked  behind  our  horses  all  the 
afternoon,  but  as  mine  held  out  bast.  I  gradually  got  ahead  of  the 
arrioro.  I  halted  several  times  for  him  to  come  up,  but  as  he  did 
not  appear,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  push  on  to  a  good  place  of 
rest.  My  carainador  had  touched  the  bottom  of  his  capability, 
and  another  day  would  have  broken  him  down  completely.  Never- 
theless, he  had  served  me  faithfully  and  performed  miracles,  con- 
sidering his  wasted  condition.  I  drove  him  forward  up  ra- 
vines, buried  in  foliage  and  fragrant  with  blossoms  ;  the  golden 
globes  of  the  orang3s  spangled  tha  "  embalmed  darkness,"  as 
twilight  settled  on  the  mountains.  Two  leagues  from  Tepic,  I 
reached  the  hacienda  of  La  Meca,  and  quartered  myself  for  the 
night.  One  of  the  rancheros  wished  to  purchase  my  horse,  and 
after  some  chaffering,  I  agreed  to  deliver  him  in  Tepic  for  four 
dollars  !  The  owner  of  the  hacienda,  on  learning  this,  was  greatly 
disappointed  that  I  had  not  bargained  with  him,  and  urged  me 
very  strongly  to  break  my  word  and  sell  him  the  horse  for  three 
dollars  {\nd  a  half !     I  told  him  I  would  not  sell  the  animal  foi 


352  ELDORADO. 

eight  dollars,  after  Laving  made  a  bargain  ;  be  was  enraged  at  tlu3 
but,  as  I  could  plainly  see,  respected  mc  the  more  for  it. 

The  young  rancheros  belonging  to  the  hacienda  amused  them 
elves  very  much  at  my  expense.  A  demon  of  fun  seemed  to 
ossess  them,  and  the  simple  sentences  in  my  Spanish  phras'^-booh 
excited  them  to  ycLs  of  laughter.  They  were  particularly  curious 
to  know  ray  tastes  and  preferences,  and  on  learning  that  I  had 
never  drank  mescal^  invited  me  to  go  with  them  and  try  it.  Wc 
went  down  the  road  to  a  little  hut,  where  a  shelf  with  a  bottle  and 
two  glasses  upon  it  swinging  under  the  thatched  portico,  signified 
"  Liquor  for  Sale,"  to  the  passing  arrieros.  We  entered  and  sat 
down  among  the  family,  who  were  at  their  scanty  supper  of  rice 
and  tortillas.  The  poor  people  offered  me  their  own  plates  with 
a  most  genuine  unsopbisticated  hospitality ;  the  rancheros  told 
them  whence  I  came,  and  they  seemed  anxious  to  learn  somothin*; 
about  my  country.  I  tasted  the  viescal,  which  is  stronger  than 
brandy,  and  has  a  pungent  oily  flavor  ;  I  should  think  its  effects 
most  pernicious  if  habitually  drank.  The  people  were  curious  to 
know  about  our  Free  School  System  of  which  they  had  heard  by 
some  means.  None  of  them  knew  how  to  read,  and  they  lamented 
most  bitterly  that  education  in  Mexico  was  so  difficult  for  their 
class.  I  was  deeply  touched  by  the  exclamation  of  an  old  man. 
whose  eyes  trembled  with  tears  as  he  spoke  :  "  Ah,  Low  beautiful 
tLing  it  is  to  be  able  to  read  of  God  !"  tLen  adding,  in  a  softened 
lone,  as  if  speaking  to  Limself:  "  but  I  cannot  read — I  cannot 
cad."  I  found  many  sucL  persons  among  tLose  ignorant  ran- 
cheros— men  who  were  conscious  of  their  inffriority  and  desired 
most  carncptly  to  be  enlightened  and  improved. 

Tepic  is  built  on  the  first  plateau  of  the  toble-land,  and  about 
naif-way  between  the  Silla  de  San  Juan  and  an  estinot  volcan* 


tEprc.  35.^ 

called  San  Guengiiey,  which  lifts  its  blackened  brow  high  into  thi 
eastern  sky.  The  plain,  about  fifteen  miles  in  breadth,  is  for  the 
most  part  moist  meadow-land,  threaded  by  several  small  streams 
The  city  is  girdled  by  pleasant  gardens  which  hide  everything 
from  view  on  approaching,  except  the  towers  and  dome  of  its 
cjathedral.  It  is  a  solid  well-built  town  of  massive  adobe  houses 
mostly  of  one  story,  and  dindcd  by  streets  running  at  right  angles. 
The  general  aspect  of  the  place  is  dull  and  monotonous,  with  the 
jxccption  of  the  plaza,  which  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in 
Mexico,  A  row  of  giant  plane-trees  runs  around  the  four  sides, 
shading  the  arched  corridors  of  stone  in  which  the  traders  display 
their  fruits,  trinkets,  and  articles  of  dress.  There  is  an  old  stone 
fountain  in  the  centre,  around  which,  under  canopies  of  grass-mat- 
ting, are  heaped  piles  of  yellow  bananas,  creamy  chirimoyas, 
oranges,  and  the  scarlet,  egg-like  fruit  of  the  Chinese  pomegranate. 
All  the  gayety  of  the  city  seems  to  concentrate  in  the  plaza,  and, 
indeed,  there  is  nothing  else  worth  the  traveler's  notice,  unless  ho 
is  interested  in  manufactures — in  which  case  he  should  visit  the 
largo  cotton  mills  of  Barron  and  Forbes  in  the  vicinity.  It 
is  mainly  through  these  mills  that  Tepic  is  known  in  the  United 
States, 

I  had  been  directed  to  call  at  the  posada  of  Dona  Pctra,  but  no 
one  seemed  to  know  the  lady.  Wandering  about  at  random  in 
the  streets,  I  asked  a  boy  to  conduct  me  to  some  meson.  As  1 
rode  along,  following  him,  a  group  of  tailors  sitting  at  a  s-treet- 
comer,  sewing,  called  out :  "  Americano  !"  ''  No  iiene  listed  cm- 
iado^"*  said  the  boy,  "  smi  wal  criados"  (Don't  mind  them  ;  they 
have  bad  manners.)  I  followed  hun  into  the  court-yard  of  a 
large  building,  where  I  was  received  by  the  patron,  who  gave  my 
done-over  horse  to  the  charge  of  the  mozo,  telling  me  I  ^as  jusi 


354  ELDORADO. 

in  time  for  breakfast.  My  name  was  suddenly  zalled  from  the 
opposite  corridor;  I  turned  about  in  surprise,  and  recognised  the 
face  of  Mr.  Jones  of  Guadalajara,  whom  I  had  met  m  Mazatlan. 
He  had  likewise  just  arrived,  and  was  deep  in  the  midst  of  a 
eraptmg  salad  and  omelette,  where  I  soon  joined  him.  I  had 
been  in  the  house  but  a  few  minutes,  when  a  heavy  shower  began 
and  continued  several  hours  without  cessation  j  it  was  the  first  ol 
the  cibahuelos^  a  week  of  rainy  weather,  which  comes  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  dry  season.  The  purchaser  of  my  horse  did  not  make 
his  appearance,  notwithstanding  I  was  ready  to  fulfil  my  part  of 
the  bargain.  As  soon  as  the  rain  was  over,  I  went  the  round  of 
the  diflferent  mesons,  to  procure  another  horse,  and  at  last  made 
choice  of  a  little  brown  mustang  that  paced  admirably,  giving  my 
o%minador  and  twenty  dollars  for  him.  I  made  arrangements  to 
leave  Topic  the  next  morning,  for  the  journey  from  Mazatlan  had 
cost  me  eight  days,  and  nine  hundred  miles  still  lay  between  me 
and  Vera  Cruz,  where  I  was  obliged  to  be  on  the  16th  of  Feb- 
ruary. 

Leaving  the  meson  on  a  bright  Sunday  noon,  I  left  the  city  by 
the  Guadalajara  road.  The  plaza  was  full  of  people,  all  in  spot 
less  holiday  dress  ;  a  part  of  the  exercises  were  performed  in  the 
portals  of  the  cathedral,  thus  turning  the  whole  square  into  a  place 
of  worship.  At  the  tingle  of  the  bell,  ten  thousand  persons  drop- 
ped on  their  knees,  repeating  their  aves  with  a  light,  murmurins; 
Bound,  that  chimed  pleasantly  with  the  bubbling  of  the  fountain 
I  e<^opped  my  horse  and  took  off  my  sombrero  till  the  prayer  was 
over.  The  scenery  beyond  Tepic  is  very  picturesque  ;  the  road 
crosses  the  plateau  on  which  the  city  is  built,  and  roimds  the  foot 
of  San  Guenguey,  whose  summit,  riven  into  deep  gulfs  between  its 
pinnacles  of  rock,  wai;  half-hidden  in  clouds  as  I  passed.     I  came 


SACRED    MYSTEBXE^.  gcg 

into  a  pretty  valley,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  ruggc  1  hills ;  fields 
of  cane  and  rice  dotted  its  surface,  but  the  soil  was  much  loss  fer- 
tile  than  in  the  rich  bottoff,s  of  the  Tierra  Caliente. 

]\Jy  prieto — the  Mexican  term  for  a  davk-bro-'.n  horse — paued 
finely,  and  carried  me  to  the  village  of  San  Lionel,  ten  leag'ies 
from  Tepic,  two  hours  before  nightfall.  I  placed  him  securely  J 
the  coiral,  deposited  my  saddle  in  an  empty  room,  the  key  of  which, 
weighing  about  four  pounds,  was  given  into  my  possession  for  the 
time  being,  and  entered  the  kitchen.  I  found  the  entire  house- 
hold in  a  state  of  pleased  anticipation  ;  a  little  girl,  with  wings  of 
red  and  white  gauze,  and  hair  very  tightly  twisted  into  ropy  ring- 
lets, sat  on  a  chair  near  the  door.  In  the  middle  of  the  little 
pJaza,  three  rancheros,  with  scarfs  of  crimson  and  white  sUk  sus- 
pended from  their  shoulders  and  immense  tinsel  crowns  upon  their 
heads,  sat  motionless  on  their  horses,  whose  manes  and  tails  were 
studded  with  rosettes  of  different  colored  paper  and  streamers  of 
ribbons.  These  were,  as  I  soon  saw,  part  of  the  preparations  for 
a  sacred  dramatic  spectacle — a  representation,  sanctioned  by  the 
religious  teachers  of  the  people. 

Against  the  wing-wall  of  the  Hacienda  del  Mayo,  which  occu- 
pied one  end  of  the  plaza,  was  raised  a  platform,  on  which  stood  a 
table  covered  with  scarlet  cloth.  A  rude  bower  of  cane-leaves,  on 
one  end  of  the  platform,  represented  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  ; 
while  a  cord,  stretched  from  its  top  across  the  plaza  to  a  hole  in 
the  front  of  the  church,  bore  a  large  tinsel  star,  suspended  by 
hole  in  its  centre.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  in  the  plaza,  and 
very  soon  a  procession  appeared,  coming  up  from  the  lower  part 
»f  the  village.  The  three  kings  took  the  lead  ;  the  Virgin 
mounted  on  an  ass  that  gloried  in  a  gilded  saddle  and  rosc-be- 
•prinkled  mane  and  tail,  followed  them,  led  by  the  angel ;  anJ 


B56  ELDORADO. 

several  women,  "with  curious  masks  of  paper,  brought  up  tht  rear 
Two  characters  of  the  harlequin  sort — one  with  a  dog's  head  on 
bL'  shoulders  and  the  other  a  bald-headed  friar,  with  a  hujjn  hat 
hanging  on  his  back — played  all  sorts  of  antics?  for  the  diversion 
of  the  crowd.  After  making  the  circuit  of  the  plaza,  the  Virgin 
was  taken  to  the  platform,  and  entered  the  manger  King  Herod 
took  his  seat  dt  the  scarlet  table,  with  an  attendant  in  blue  coal 
and  red  sash,  whom  I  took  to  be  his  Prime  Minister.  The  three 
kings  remained  on  their  horses  in  front  of  the  church  ;  but  between 
them  and  the  platform,  under  the  string  on  which  the  star  was  to 
slide,  walked  two  men  in  long  white  robes  and  blue  hoods,  with 
parchment  folios  in  their  hands.  These  were  the  Wise  Men  of 
the  East,  as  one  might  readily  know  from  their  solemn  air,  and 
the  mysterious  glances  which  they  cast  towards  all  quarters  of  the 
heavens. 

In  a  little  while,  a  company  of  women  on  the  platform,  con- 
cealed behind  a  curtain,  sana;  an  anjtelic  chorus  to  the  tune  of  "  0 
pescator  dell'onda."  At  the  proper  moment,  the  Magi  turned 
towards  the  platform,  followed  by  the  star,  to  which  a  string  was  con- 
veniently attached,  that  it  might  be  slid  along  the  line.  The  three 
kings  followed  the  star  till  it  reached  the  manger,  when  they  dis- 
mounted, and  inquired  for  the  sovereign  whom  it  had  led  them  to 
visit.  They  were  invited  upon  the  platform  and  introduced  to 
Herod,  as  the  only  king;  this  did  not  seem  to  satisfy  them,  and, 
after  some  conversation,  they  retired.  By  thb  time  'he  star  had 
receded  to  the  other  end  of  the  line,  and  commenced  moving  for 
ward  again,  they  following.  The  angel  called  them  into  the  man 
ger,  where,  upon  their  knees,  they  were  shown  a  small  woode* 
box,  suppcseil  to  contain  the  sacred  infant ;  they  then  retired, 
and  tho  star  bi ought  them  bsck  no  more.     After  this  departme 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    THE    INNOCENTS.  357 

King  Herod  declared  himself  greatly  confused  by  wtat  ho  had 
witnessed,  and  was  very  much  afraid  this  newly-found  kin<»  would 
weaken  his  power.  Upon  consultation  with  his  Prime  Minister 
the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents  was  decided  upon,  as  the  only 
means  of  security. 

The  angel,  on  hearing  this,  gave  warning  to  the  Virgin,  who 
quickly  got  down  from  the  platform,  mounted  her  bespangled  don- 
key and  hurried  off.  Herod's  Prime  Minister  directed  all  tho 
children  to  be  handed  up  for  execution.  A  boy,  in  a  ragged 
sarapc,  was  caught  and  thrust  forward ;  the  Blinister  took  him  by 
the  heels  in  spite  of  his  kicking,  and  held  his  head  on  the  tabla 
The  little  brother  and  sister  of  the  boy,  thinking  he  was  really  to 
be  decapitated,  yelled  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  in  an  agony  of 
terror,  which  threw  the  crowd  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  King 
Herod  brought  down  his  sword  with  a  whack  on  tho  table,  and  the 
Prime  Minister,  dipping  his  brush  into  a  pot  of  white  paint  which 
stood  before  him,  made  a  flaring  cross  on  the  boy's  face.  Seve 
ral  other  boys  were  caught  and  served  likewise ;  and,  finally,  tho 
two  harlequins,  whose  kicks  and  struggles  nearly  shook  down  the 
platform.  The  procession  then  went  off  up  the  hill,  followed  by 
the  whole  population  of  the  village.  All  the  evenmg  there  were  fan- 
dangos in  the  meson,  bonfires  and  rockets  on  the  plaza,  ringing  of 
ho]h,  and  high  mass  in  the  church,  with  tho  accompaniment  of 
two  guitars,  tinkling  to  lively  polkas. 

1  left  San  Lionel  early  in  the  morning.  The  road,  leaving  tho 
valley,  entered  the  defiles  of  the  mountains,  crossing  many  a  wild 
md  rocky  barranca.  (A  barranca  nearly  answers  to  the  idea  of 
our  W3rd  "gulley,"  but  is  on  a  deeper  and  grander  scale.)  A 
beautiful  species  of  pine  already  appeared,  but  in  the  warm  hollows 
jmall  pkntations  of  bananas  still  flourished.    I  lost  eight  of  San 


358  ELDORADO. 

Quenguey,  and  after  two  hours  of  rough  travel,  catno  out  on  a 
mountain  slope  overlooking  one  of  the  most  striking  landscapes  I 
ever  beheld.  In  front,  across  a  reach  of  high  table-land,  twc 
ofty  volcanic  peaks  rose  far  above  the  rim  of  the  barren  hills.    Tr 

he  left,  away  towards  the  east,  extended  a  broad  and  lovely  valley 
dotted  with  villages  and  the  green  shimmer  of  fields,  and  hemmed 
ic  on  all  sides  by  mountains  that  touched  the  clouds.  These  lofty 
ranges — some  of  which  were  covered  with  trees  to  the  summit 
and  some  bleak  and  stony,  despite  their  aerial  hue  of  purple- 
make  no  abrupt  transition  from  the  bed  of  the  valley :  on  the  con 
trary,  the  latter  seems  to  be  formed  by  the  gradual  flattening  ot 
their  bases.  The  whole  scene  wore  a  distinct,  vaporless,  amethyst 
tint,  and  the  volcano  of  Zurubuco,  though  several  leagues  distant, 
showed  every  jag  in  the  cold  and  silent  lips  of  its  crater. 

I  rode  thirty  miles,  to  the  village  of  Santa  Ysabel,  before  break- 
fasting, and  still  had  twenty-one  miles  to  Ahuacatlan,  my  stopping- 
place  for  the  night.  My  road  led  down  the  beautiful  valley, 
between  fields  of  the  agave  americana.  Sunset  came  on  as  I 
reached  the  foot  of  Zurubuco,  and  struck  on  a  rocky  path  across  a 
projecting  spur.  Here  a  most  wonderful  region  opened  before  me. 
The  pleasant  valley  disappeared,  with  everything  that  reminded 
me  of  life,  and  I  was  surrounded,  as  far  as  the  vision  extended, 
with  the  black  waves  of  a  lava  sea.     It  was  terrible  as  the  gatea 

f  Tartarus — a  wild,  inexorable  place,  with  no  gleam  of  light  on 
ts  chaotic  features.  The  road  was  hewn  with  difficulty  through 
(he  surgy  crests  of  rock,  which  had  stiffened  to  adamant,  while 
tossing  in  their  most  tempestuous  rage.  The  only  thing  like 
vegetation,  was  a  tree  with  a  red  and  bloated  trunk,  the  bark  ol 
which  peeled  off  in  shreds, — appar^tly  a  sort  of  vegetable  elephan- 
tiasis, a&  disgusting  as  the  human  specimens  I  saw  on  the  Isthmm 


CHILDISH    HOSTS A    VALLEY-PICTURE.  35S 

I  passed  this  region  with  a  sensation  bordering  on  fear,  welcoming 
the  dusky  twilight  of  the  shaded  road  beyond,  and  the  bright  moon 
under  whose  rays  I  entered  Ahuacatlan. 

At  the  meson  I  found  no  one  but  the  hostess  and  hei  two  little 
sons ;  but  the  latter  attended  to  my  wants  with  a  childish  ccur- 
tesy,  and  gravity  withal,  which  were  charming.  The  little  fellows 
gave  me  the  key  to  a  room,  saw  my  prieto  properly  cared  for,  and 
then  sat  down  to  entertain  me  till  the  tortillas  were  made  and  the 
eggs  fried.  They  talked  with  much  naivete  and  a  wisdom  beyond 
their  years.  After  supper  they  escorted  me  to  my  room,  and  took 
leave  of  me  with  .  "  pasa  usU  muy  huna  nocht  /"  I  arose  in  the 
cloudless  dawn,  rode  through  the  gay,  spacious  plaza  of  the  village 
crossed  another  barranca,  and  reached  Iztlan  in  time  for  break 
fast.  This  is  a  beautiful  place,  embosomed  in  gardens,  from  the 
midst  of  which  the  church  lifts  its  white  tower.  Beyond  Iztlan,  s 
delicious  valley-picture  lay  before  me.  The  dark  red  mountains 
bristling  with  rock,  formed  nearly  an  even  circle,  inclosing  a  bowl 
about  ten  miles  in  diameter.  Further  down  their  sides,  the  plan- 
tations of  the  agave,  or  aloe,  made  a  belt  of  silvery  gray,  and  deep 
in  the  fertile  bosom  of  the  plain,  the  gardens  and  orange  groves, 
with  sparkling  glimpses  of  streams  between  the  black  loam,  freshly 
ploughed,  and  the  fields  of  young  cane,  of  a  pale  golden  green, 
basked  in  the  full  light  of  the  sun.  Far  off,  over  the  porphyry 
rim  of  the  basin,  a  serrated  volcanic  peak  stood  up  against  the 
Btaioless  blue  of  the  sky.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  chances  in 
nature,  when  scenery,  color,  climate,  and  the  sentiment  of  the 
fpot,  arc  in  entire  and  exquisite  harmony. 

Leaving  this  valley,  which  was  like  a  crystal  or  a  piece  of 
perfect  enamel,  buried  in  a  region  that  Nature  had  left  in  the 
•vngh,  I  cUmbed  a  barren  hill,  which  terminated  at  the  brink  of 


g60  ELDORADO. 

the  grand  Barranca^  —a  tremendous  chasm,  dividing  two  sectlom 
of  the  table-land.  Two  thousand  feet  below,  at  the  level  of  the 
Tierra  Calicntc,  lay  a  strip  of  Eden-like  richness  and  beauty,  hut 
the  moxmtains  which  walled  it  on  both  sides  were  dark,  sterile  and 
saragc.  Those  opposite  to  me  rose  as  far  above  the  level  of  tho 
ledge  on  which  I  stood,  as  their  bases  sank  below  it.  Their  ap- 
pearance was  indescribably  grand ;  for  the  most  perfect  and  sub- 
lime eflfcct  of  a  mountain  is  to  be  had  neither  from  base  nor 
Bummit,  but  a  station  midway  between  the  two  and  separated  from 
it.  The  road  descending  to  Plan  de  Barranca,  a  little  village  at 
the  bottom  of  the  chasm,  is  built  with  great  labor  along  the  very 
verge  of  giddy  precipices,  or  notched  under  the  eaves  of  crags  which 
threaten  to  topple  down  upon  it.  The  ascent  of  the  opposite 
steep  is  effected  by  a  stony  trail,  barely  largo  enough  for  two 
mules  to  pass,  up  the  side  of  a  wide  crevice  in  the  mountain-wall 
Finally,  the  path  appears  to  fail ;  the  precipice  falls  sheer  on  one 
side  ;  tho  bare  crag  rises  on  the  other.  But  a  sudden  twist 
around  the  comer  of  a  rock  reveals  a  narrow  cleft,  terminating  in 
the  lower  shelf  of  the  table-land  above.  Looking  back  after  I 
bad  scaled  this,  an  atajo  of  mules  which  followed  me,  appeared 
to  bo  emerging  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  road  crossing 
the  barranca  is  nearly  fifteen  miles  in  length.  Large  numbers  of 
w^orkmen  are  engaged  in  completing  it  for  vehicles,  and  over  the 
ieepest  chasm  a  bridge  is  being  constructed  by  the  State  of  Jalisco. 
Five  years,  however,  is  the  shortest  period  named  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  work,  up  to  which  time  the  barranca  will  remain 
impassable  except  for  mules.  The  line  of  stages  to  Tepic,  which 
to  greatly  demanded  by  the  increase  of  travel,  cannot  therefore  be 
perfected  before  that  time  ;  but  Seiior  Zurutuza,  the  proprietor  o, 
tho  diligence  lines,  proposes  opeuing  a  communication  immediately 


A    CHILL    LODGINQ.  361 

by  moans  of  a  mule-post  across  the  barranca.  From  Tcpio  to 
San  Bla3  is  but  a  day's  journey,  so  tliat  the  chain  of  comfortable 
traTcl  will  then  reach  nearly  from  ocean  to  ocean. 

My  prieio  began  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  hard  hills  and  thii 
air  of  the  upper  region,  and  I  therefore  stopped  for  the  night  at 
the  inn  of  Mochitilte,  an  immense  building,  sitting  alone  like  a 
fortress  among  the  hills.  The  key  of  a  large,  cheerless  room, 
daubed  with  attempts  at  fresco  ornament,  was  given  to  mc,  and  a 
supper  served  up  in  a  cold  and  gloomy  hall.  The  wind  blew  chUl 
from  tbo  heights  on  cither  side,  and  I  found  prieto^s  blankofc  a 
welcome  addition  to  my  own,  in  the  matter  of  bedding. 


16 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE   ROBBER    REGION 

I  BLLPT  soundly  in  my  frescoed  chamber,  fed  prtito^  and  was 
off  by  sunrise.  The  road  ascended  the  valley  for  several  leagues, 
to  the  rim  of  the  table-land,  with  high,  barren  mountains  on  cither 
hand.  Before  crossing  its  edge  I  turned  to  look  down  into  the 
basin  I  had  left.  A  few  streaks  of  dusky  green  varied  its  earthen 
hue;  far  off,  in  its  very  bottom,  the  front  of  the  meson  of 
Mochitilte  shone  like  a  white  speck  in  the  sunrise,  and  the  blue 
walls  of  the  barranca  filled  up  the  farthest  perspective.  I  now 
entered  on  a  broad,  barren  plain,  bordered  by  stony  mountains 
and  holding  in  its  deepest  part  a  shallow  lake,  which  appeared  to 
be  fast  drying  in  the  sun.  The  scenery  strikingly  resembled  that 
of  some  parts  of  California,  towards  the  end  of  the  rainy  season. 
The  little  town  of  Magdalena,  where  I  breakfasted,  sits  beside 
the  lake,  at  the  foot  of  a  glen  through  which  the  road  again  enters 
♦iie  hills.  The  waters  of  a  clear  stream  trickle  down  through  its 
streets  and  keep  green  the  gardens  of  splendid  orange-trees  which 
gleam  behind  the  gray  adobe  walld.  At  the  meson  I  gave  prieto 
a  sheaf  of  07a  and  two  hours'  rest  before  starting  for  the  town  oi 
Tequila.  "  JVo  quiere  usU  tomar  ausilio  ? — hay  mwchoi  ladrones 
t%  el  camino  ;"  (Don't  you  want  a  guard .? — the  road  i<j  full  of 


MfiETING    A    CONDUCTA  3(53 

robbers,)  asked  the  vaquero  of  the  house.  "  Every  traveler  "  he 
continued,  "  takes  a  guard  as  far  as  Tequila,  for  which  he  pays 
each  man  a  dollar."  I  told  him  I  had  no  particular  fear  of  tho 
robbers,  and  would  try  it  alone.  "  You  are  very  courageous,"  he 
remarked,  "  but  you  wilJ  certainly  be  attacked  unless  you  take  m» 
as  an  ausilio.''* 

Soon  after  leaving  the  town  I  net  a  conducfa  of  a  hundred 
soldiers,  escorting  about  fifty  spcci>]aden  mules.  The  officera 
were  finely  mounted,  but  the  men.  most  of  whom  had  broad, 
swarthy  Indian  faces,  trudged  along  in  the  dust.  Some  of  them 
greeted  me  with  :  "  Como  va,  paisano  ?"  some  with  "  How  do  you 
do  ?"  and  others  with  a  round  English  oath,  but  all  imagining, 
ipparently,  that  they  had  made  the  same  salutation.  As  I  was 
passing,  a  tawny  individual,  riding  with  one  of  the  officers,  turned 
about  and  addressed  me  in  English.  He  was  an  American,  who 
had  been  several  years  in  the  country,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to 
California,  concerning  which  he  wanted  some  information.  Not- 
withstanding he  was  bound  to  San  Bias  and  had  aU  his  funds  packed 
on  one  of  the  mules,  he  seemed  stiU  undecided  whether  to  embarl 
for  San  Francisco,  and  like  most  of  the  other  emigrants  I  met, 
msisted  strongly  <nmsay  opinion  as  to  the  likelihood  of  his  success. 
The  road  now  entered  a  narrow  pass,  following  the  dry  bed  of  a 
stream,  whose  channel  was  worn  about  twenty  feet  deep  in  the 
earth.  Its  many  abrupt  twists  and  windings  afforded  unequalled 
chances  for  the  guerillas,  especially  as  the  pass  was  nearly  three 
leagues  in  length,  without  a  single  habitation  on  the  road.  Jly 
friend,  Lieutenant  Beale,  was  chased  by  a  party  of  robbers,  in  this 
very  place,  on  his  express  journey  across  Mexico,  in  the  summer 
of  1848.  I  did  not  meet  with  a  single  soul,  although  it  was  not 
later  than  the  middje  of  the  afternoon.     The  recent  passing  of  the 


864  ELDORADO. 

conducia  had  probauly  friglitoncd  the  rollers  away  from  the 
vicinity. 

After  lidlng  two  hours  in  the  hot  afternoon  sun,  which  shono 
down  into  the  pass,  a  sudden  tuni  disclosed  to  mo  a  startling 
change  of  scenery.  From  the  depths  of  the  scorched  hills,  T  camt 
at  once  upon  the  edge  of  a  bluff,  several  hundred  feet  high,  down 
which  the  road  wound  in  a  steep  and  tortuous  descent.  Below 
and  before  me  extended  a  plain  of  twenty  miles  in  length,  entirely 
covered  with  fields  of  the  maguey.  At  my  very  feet  lay  the  city 
of  Tequila,  so  near  that  it  seemed  a  stone  might  bo  thrown  upon 
the  square  towers  of  its  cathedral.  The  streets,  tho  gardens,  the 
housetops  and  the  motley  groups  of  tho  populace,  were  as  com- 
pletely unveiled  to  my  observation  as  if  Asmodeus  had  been  my 
traveling  companion.  Around  the  plain,  which  now  lay  basking 
in  the  mellow  light  of  the  low  sun,  ran  a  circle  of  mural  moun- 
tains, which,  high  and  blue  as  they  were,  sank  into  nothing  before 
the  stupendous  bulk  of  a  black  volcanic  peak  rising  behind  Tequila 
The  whole  scene,  with  its  warm  empurpled  hues,  might  have 
served,  if  not  for  the  first  circle  of  Dante's  Paradise,  at  least  foi 
that  part  of  Purgatory  which  lay  next  to  it. 

I  rode  down  into  the  city,  crossing  several  jrroyos,  which  the 
floods  gathered  by  the  volcano  had  cut  deeper  into  the  plain.  At 
the  Mison  de  San  Jost — the  only  inn  in  the  place — I  found  a  largo 
company  of  soldiers  quartered  for  the  night.  The  inner  patio  or 
ourtyard,  with  its  stables,  well,  and  massive  trough  of  hewnstono^ 
was  appropriated  to  their  horses,  and  groups  of  swarthy  privates, 
in  dusty  blue  uniforms,  filled  the  corridors.  I  obtained  a  dark 
room  for  myself,  and  a  corner  of  one  of  tho  stalls  for  pri^io,  where 
I  was  obliged  to  watch  until  he  had  finislied  his  corn,  and  keep  ofl 
bis  military  agfrrcssors.     The  women  were  all  absent,  and  I  pro 


8USPIJ10US   CIRCUMSTANCES.  865 

cured  a  few  tortillas  aud  a  cup  of  pepper-sauce,  mth  seme  diffi 
culty.  The  place  looked  I  leak  and  cheerless  after  dark,  and  foi 
this  reason,  rather  than  its  cut-throat  reputation,  I  made  but  a 
Bmg!o  stroll  to  the  plaza,  where  a  number  of  rancheros  sat  beside 
their  piles  of  fruit  and  grain,  in  the  light  of  smoky  torches,  hoisted 

n  poles.  The  meson  was  full  of  fleas,  who  seemed  to  relish  my 
blood  better  than  that  of  the  soldiers,  for  I  believe  they  all  paid 
rao  a  visit  in  the  course  of  the  night. 

When  I  arose,  the  sun,  just  above  the  hills,  was  shining  down 
the  long  street  that  led  to  Guadalajara.  I  had  a  journey  of 
eighteen  leagues  to  make,  and  it  was  time  to  be  on  the  road  ;  so, 
vdthout  feeding  my  horse,  I  saddled  and  rode  away.  A  little 
more  than  four  leagues  across  the  plain,  brought  me  to  the  town 
of  Amatitlan ;  where,  at  a  miserable  mud  building,  dignified  by  the 
name  of  a  meson,  I  ordered  breakfast,  and  a  mano  de  cja  for  my 
horse.  There  was  none  in  the  house,  but  one  of  the  neighbors 
began  shelling  a  quantity  of  the  ripe  ears.  When  I  came  to  pay, 
I  gave  her  a  Mexican  dollar,  which  she  soon  brought  back,  saying 
that  it  had  been  pronounced  counterfeit  at  a  titnda.,  or  shop,  across 
the  way.  I  then  gave  her  another,  which  she  returned,  with  the 
same  story,  after  which  I  gave  her  a  third,  saying  she  must  change 
it,  for  I  would  give  her  no  more.  The  affairs  of  a  few  hours 
later  caused  me  to  remember  and  understand  the  meaning  of  this 
ittle  circumstance.     At  the  tienda,  a  number  of  fellows  in  greasy 

arapcs  were  grouped,  drinking  mescal,  which  they  oficred  me.  1 
refused  to  jom  them  :  "  «  la  ultima  vez,"  (it  is  the  last  time,J 
said  one  of  them,  though  what  he  meant,  I  did  not  ihcn  know. 
It  was  about  ten  in  the  forenoon  when  I  left  Amatitlan.  The 
*oad  entered  on  a  lonely  range  of  hills,  the  pedestal  of  an  abrupt 
ipur  standing  out  from  the  side  of  the  volcano.     The  soil  wa« 


!t66  ELDORADO 

covered  with  stunted  shrubs  and  a  growth  of  long  yellow  grass 
I  coiild  see  the  way  for  half  a  league  before  and  behind ;  there 
was  DO  one  in  sight — ^not  even  a  boy-arriero,  with  his  two  or  three 
donkeys.  I  rode  leisurely  along,  looking  down  into  a  deep  ravine 
on  my  right  and  thinking  to  myself ;  "  that  is  an  excellent  place 
foi  robbers  to  lie  in  wait ;  I  think  I  had  better  load  my  pistol" — 
which  I  had  fired  off  just  before  reaching  Tequila.  Scarcely  had 
this  thought  passed  through  my  mind,  when  a  little  bush  beside 
the  road  seemed  to  rise  up  ;  I  turned  suddenly,  and,  in  a  breath, 
flie  two  barrels  of  a  musket  were  before  me,  so  near  and  surely 
aimed,  that  I  could  almost  see  the  bullets  at  the  bottom.  The 
weapon  was  held  by  a  ferocious-looking  native,  dressed  in  a  pink 
calico  shirt  and  white  pantaloons  ;  on  the  other  side  of  me  stood 
a  second,  covering  me  with  another  double-barreled  musket,  and 
a  little  in  the  rear,  appeared  a  third.  I  had  walked  like  an  xm~ 
inspecting  mouse,  into  the  very  teeth  of  the  trap  laid  for  me. 

"  Down  with  your  pistols  !"  cried  the  first,  in  a  hurried  whisper. 
So  silently  and  suddenly  had  all  this  taken  place,  that  I  sat  still  a 
moment,  hardly  realizing  my  situation.  "  Down  with  your  pistols 
and  dismount !"  was  repeated,  and  this  time  the  barrels  came  a 
little  nearer  my  breast.  Thus  solicited,  I  threw  down  my  single 
pistol — the  more  readily  because  it  was  harmless — and  got  off  my 
horse.  Having  secured  the  pistol,  the  robbers  went  to  the  rear^ 
never  for  a  moment  losing  their  aim.  They  then  ordered  me  to 
lead  my  horse  off  the  road,  by  a  direction  which  they  pointed  out 
We  went  down  the  side  of  the  ravine  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
to  a  patch  of  bushes  and  tall  giass,  out  of  view  from  the  road, 
where  they  halted,  one  of  them  returning,  apparently  to  keep 
watch.  The  others,  deliberately  levelling  their  pieces  at  me, 
^mmandcd  mo  to  lie  down  on  my  face — ^"  la  hoca  a  titrra  /'*    J 


THE    ROBBERS'   SEARCH  357 

cannot  say  that  I  ft  It  alarmed :  it  had  always  been  a  part  of  mj 
belief  that  the  shadow  of  Death  faUs  before  him — ^that  the  man 
doomed  to  die  by  violence  feels  the  chill  before  the  blow  has  been 
struck.  As  I  never  felt  more  positively  alive  than  at  that  mo- 
ment, I  judged  my  time  had  not  yet  come.  I  pulled  off  my  coal 
and  vest,  at  their  command,  and  threw  them  on  the  grass,  saying 
'*  Take  what  you  want,  but  don't  detain  me  long."  The  fellow  .. 
a  pink  calico  shirt,  who  appeared  to  have  some  authority  over  thv 
other  two,  picked  up  my  coat,  and,  one  after  the  other,  turned  all 
ihe  pockets  inside  out.  I  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  at  his  blank 
took  when  he  opened  my  purse  and  poured  the  few  dollars  it  con- 
tained into  a  pouch  he  carried  in  his  belt.  "  How  is  it,"  said  he, 
"  that  you  have  no  more  money  .''"  "  I  don't  own  much,"  I  an- 
iwered,  "  but  there  is  quite  enough  for  you."  I  had,  in  fact,  barely 
suflBcient  in  coin  for  a  ride  to  Mexico,  the  most  of  my  fands  hav- 
ing been  invested  in  a  draft  on  that  city.  I  believe  I  did  not  lose 
more  than  twenty-five  dollars  by  this  attack.  "  At  least,"  I  said 
to  the  robbers,  "  you'll  not  take  the  papers" — among  which  was 
my  draft.  "  iVb,"  he  replied,  "tw  me  valen  nada."  (They  an» 
worth  nothing  to  me.) 

Having  searched  my  coat,  he  took  a  hunting-knife  which  I 
carried,  (belonging,  however,  to  Lieut.  Beale,)  examined  the  blade 
and  point,  placed  his  piece  against  a  bush  behind  him  and  came 
op  to  mc,  saying,  as  he  held  the  knife  above  my  head :  "  Now 
put  your  hands  behind  you,  and  don't  move,  or  I  shall  strike.'' 
Tht  other  then  laid  dovrn  his  musket  and  advanced  to  bind  me. 
They  were  evidently  adepts  in  the  art :  all  their  movements  were 
BO  carefully  timed,  that  any  resistance  would  have  been  against 
dangerous  odds,  f  did  not  consider  my  loss  sufficient  to  justify 
Miy  desperate  risk,  and  did  as  they  commanded.     With  the  end 


86b  SLDORADO. 

of  my  horse's  lariat,  they  bound  my  wrists  firmly  together  and 
having  mc  thus  secure,  sat  down  to  finish  their  inspection  more 
leisurely.  My  feelings  during  this  proceeding  were  oddly  hetero 
gencous — at  one  moment  burning  with  rage  and  shame  at  having 
neglccled  the  proper  means  of  defence,  and  the  next,  ready  to 
burst  into  a  laugh  at  the  decided  novelty  of  my  situation.  My 
blanket  having  been  spread  on  the  grass,  everything  was  emptied 
into  it.  The  robbers  had  an  eye  for  the  curious  and  incompre- 
hensible, as  well  as  the  useful.  They  spared  all  my  letters,  books 
and  papers,  but  took  my  thermometer,  compass  and  card-case, 
together  with  a  number  of  drawing-pencils,  some  soap,  (a.  thing 
the  Mexicans  never  use,)  and  what  few  little  articles  of  the 
toilette  I  carried  with  mc.  A  bag  hanging  at  my  saddle-bow,  con- 
taining ammunition,  went  at  once,  as  well  as  a  number  of  oranges 
and  cigars  in  my  pockets,  the  robbers  leaving  me  one  of  the  latter, 
as  a  sort  of  consolation  for  my  loss. 

Between  jMazatlan  and  Topic,  I  had  carried  a  doubloon  in  th( 
hollow  of  each  foot,  covered  by  the  stocking.  It  was  wdl  they 
had  been  spent  for  priitoy  for  they  would  else  have  certainly  been 
discovered.  The  villains  unbuckled  my  spurs,  jerked  off  my  boots 
and  examined  the  bottoms  of  my  pantaloons,  ungirthed  the  saddle 
and  shook  out  the  blankets,  scratched  the  heavy  guard  of  the  bit 
to  t'ce  whether  it  was  silver,  and  then,  apparently  satisfied  that 
they  had  made  the  most  of  mc,  tied  everything  together  in  a 
comer  of  my  best  blanket  "  Now,"  paid  the  leader,  when  this 
WM  done,  "  shall  we  take  your  horse  r"  This  question  was  of 
eourso  a  mockery ;  but  I  thought  I  would  try  an  experiment,  and 
bO  answered  in  a  very  decided  tone :  "  No ;  you  shall  not.  I  must 
have  him ;  I  am  going  to  Guadalajara,  and  I  cannot  get  there 
without  him.     Besides,  ho  would  not  answer  at  all  for  your  buai 


THEIR    .)EPARTURE    AND    JIY    LIBERATION.  JJ69 

ncss."  He  made  no  reply,  but  took  up  hu  picccj  which  I  cotiood 
was  a  splendid  article  and  in  perfect  order,  walked  a  short  distance 
towards  the  road,  and  made  a  signal  to  tho  third  robber.  Bud- 
dcnlj  he  came  oack,  saying:  "Perhaps  you  may  get  hunnTj 
before  night — here  is  something  to  eat ;"  and  with  that  he  placed 
cnc  of  my  oranges  and  half  a  dozen  tortillas  on  the  grass  beside 
mo.  "  3IU  graciasj^^  said  I,  "  but  how  am  I  to  eat  without 
hands  ?"  The  other  then  coming  up,  he  said,  as  thoy  all  three 
turned  to  leave  me  :  "  Now  we  are  going  ;  we  have  more  to  carr^ 
than  we  had  before  we  met  you ;  adios !"  This  was  insulting — 
but  there  arc  instances  under  which  an  insult  must  be  swallowed. 

I  waited  till  no  more  of  them  could  be  seen,  and  then  turned  to 
my  horse,  who  stood  quietly  at  the  other  end  of  the  lariat 
"  Now,  prietoj"  I  asked,  "  how  are  we  to  get  out  of  this  scrape  t^' 
He  said  nothing,  but  I  fancied  I  could  detect  an  inclination  to 
laugh  in  the  twitching  of  his  nether  lip.  Hqwever,  I  went  to 
work  at  extricating  myself — a  difficult  matter,  as  the  rope  was  tied 
in  several  knots.  After  tugging  a  long  time,  I  made  a  twial 
which  the  India-rubber  man  might  have  envied,  and  to  the  great 
danger  of  my  spine,  succeeded  in  forcing  my  body  through  mj 
arms.  Then,  loosening  the  knots  with  my  teeth,  in  half  an  hour 
I  was  free  again.  As  1  rode  oflP,  I  saw  the  threo  robbers  at  some 
distance,  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine. 

It  is  astonishing  how  light  one  feels  after  being  robbed.  A 
sensation  of  complete  independence  came  over  me ;  my  horse, 
even,  sccnied  to  move  more  briskly,  after  being  relieved  of  my 
blankets.  I  tried  to  comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that  this 
was  a  genuine  adventure,  worth  one  experience — that,  perhaps,  i* 
was  better  to  lose  a  few  dollars  than  have  even  a  robber's  blood 
UQ  my  head ;  but  it  would  not  do     The  sense  of  the  outrajje  aud 


370  ELDCRADO. 

indignity  was  strongest,  and  my  single  desire  was  tto  uncAristiau 
one  of  revenge.  It  is  easy  to  philosophize  on  imaginary  premises 
but  actual  experience  is  the  best  test  of  human  nature.  Once,  \i 
had  been  difficult  for  me  to  imagine  the  feeling  that  would  prompl 
s  man  to  take  the  life  of  another  ;  now,  it  was  clear  enough.  In 
gpite  of  the  threats  of  the  robbers,  I  looked  in  their  faces  suffi- 
ciently to  know  them  again,  in  whatever  part  of  the  world  I  migh< 
meet  them.  I  recognized  the  leader — a  thick-set,  athletic  man, 
with  a  short,  black  beard — as  one  of  the  persons  I  had  seen 
lounging  about  the  tienda,  in  Amatitlan,  which  explained  the 
artifice  that  led  me  to  display  more  money  than  was  prudent.  It 
was  evidently  a  preconceived  plan  to  plunder  me  at  all  hazards, 
since,  coming  from  the  Pacific,  I  might  be  supposed  to  carry  a 
booty  worth  fighting  for. 

I  rode  on  rapidly,  over  broad,  barren  hills,  covered  with  patches 
of  chapparal,  and  gashed  with  deep  arroyos.  These  are  the  usual 
biding-places  of  the  robbers,  and  I  kept  a  sharp  look-out,  inspect- 
'ng  every  rock  and  clump  of  cactus  with  a  peculiar  interest. 
About  three  miles  from  the  place  of  my  encounter,  I  passed  a 
spot  where  there  had  been  a  desperate  assault  eighteen  months 
previous.  The  robbers  came  upon  a  camp  of  soldiers  and  traders 
in  the  night,  and  a  fight  ensued,  in  which  eleven  of  the  latter  were 
killed.  They  lie  buried  by  the  road-side,  with  a  few  black  crosses 
to  mark  the  spot,  while  drectly  above  them  stands  a  rough 
gibbet,  on  which  three  of  the  robbers,  who  were  afterwards  taken, 
swing  in  chains.  I  confess  to  a  decided  feeling  of  satisfaction, 
when  I  saw  that  three,  at  least,  had  obtained  their  deserts. 
Their  long  black  hair  hung  over  their  faces,  their  clothcfl 
ircro  dropping  in  tatters,  and  their  skeleton-bones  protruded 
jhrougih  the  dry  *nd  shnmken  flesh.     The  thin,  pure  air  of  th* 


MEXICAN     PUNISHMENT    AND    PROTECTIOIT.  371 

cable-land  had  prevented  decomposition,  and  the  vultures  and 
buzzards  had  been  kept  off  by  the  nearness  of  the  bodies  to  the 
road.  It  is  said,  however,  that  neither  wolves  nor  vultures  \yil] 
touch  a  dead  Mexican,  his  flesh  being  always  too  highly  seasoned 
oj  the  red-pepper  he  has  eaten.  A  large  sign  was  fastened  akve 
this  ghastly  spectacle,  with  the   words,  in  large  letters:  "as- 

CASTIGA    LA    LEY    EL    LADRON    Y    EL    ASESINO."       (ThuS    the   laW 

punishes  the  robber  and  the  assassin,  j 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  I  reached  a  militanf 
station  called  La  Venta,  seven  leagues  from  Guadalajara.  Thirty 
or  forty  idle  soldiers  were  laughing  and  playing  games  in  the 
shade.  I  rode  up  to  the  house  and  informed  the  officer  of  my 
loss,  mentioning  several  circumstances  by  which  the  robbers  might 
be  identified;  but  the  zealous  functionary  merely  shrugged  his 
«}houlders  and  said  nothing.  A  proper  distribution  of  half  the 
soldiers  who  lay  idle  in  this  guard-house,  would  have  sufficed  to 
make  the  road  perfectly  secure.  I  passed  on,  with  a  feeling  of 
indignation  against  the  country  and  its  laws,  and  hurried  my 
prieto,  now  nearly  exhausted,  over  the  dusty  plain.  I  had  aa^ 
cended  beyond  the  tropical  heats,  and,  as  night  drew  on,  the 
temperature  was  fresh  almost  to  chilliness.  The  robbers  had 
taken  my  cravat  and  vest,  and  the  cold  wind  of  the  mountains, 
blowing  upon  my  bare  neck  gave  me  a  violent  nervous  pain  and 
toothache,  which  was  worse  than  the  loss  of  my  money.  Prieto 
panted  and  halted  with  fatigue,  for  he  had  already  traveled  fifty 
miles ;  but  I  was  obliged  to  reach  Guadalajara,  and  by  plying  8 
«tick  in  lieu  of  the  abstracted  spur,  kept  nim  to  his  pace.  At 
dusk  I  passed  through  Sapopa,  a  small  village,  containing  a  splen- 
did monastery,  belonging  to  the  monks  of  the  order  of  Guada- 
lupe.    Beyond  it,  T  overtook,  in  the  moonlight,  the  family  «jf  • 


372  ELDORADO. 

ranclicro,  jogging  along  on  their  mules  and  repeating  paternosters 
tr-hetlier  for  protection  against  robbers  or  cholera,  I  could  not  tcU 
The  plain  was  crossed  by  deep,  water-worn  arroyos,  over  whieb 
the  road  was  bridged.  An  hour  and  a  half  of  this  bleak,  ghostlj 
travel  brought  mc  to  the  suburbs  o^'  Guadalajara-  -greatly  to  the 
relief  of  prieloj  for  he  began  to  stagger,  and  I  believe  could  not 
have  carried  mc  a  mile  further. 

I  was  riding  at  random  among  the  dark  adobe  houses,  when  an 
old  padre,  in  black  cassock  and  immense  shovel-hat,  accosted  ma 
"  EslrangeroV  he  inquired  ;  "  Si,padrc,''^  said  I.  "  But,"  ho 
continued,  "  do  you  know  that  it  is  very  dangerous  to  bo  hc?o 
alone  .^"  Several  persons  who  were  passing,  stopped  near  us,  out 
of  curiosity.  "Begone!"  said  he,  "  what  business  have  you  to 
stop  and  listen  to  us  .'" — then,  dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  ho 
added  :  "  Guadalajara  is  full  of  robbers ;  you  miLst  be  careful  ho"W 
you  wander  about  after  night ;  do  you  know  where  to  go  ?"  I  an- 
Bwercd  in  the  negative.  "  Then,"  said  he,  "  go  to  the  Meson  dc 
la  Merced ;  they  are  honest  people  there,  and  you  will  be  pei* 
feclly  safe ;  come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  the  way."  I  followed 
him  for  some  distance,  till  wo  were  near  the  place,  when  he  put 
mo  in  the  care  of  "  Ave  Maria  Santissuna,"  and  left.  I  found 
the  house  without  diflBculty,  and  rode  into  the  court-yard.  The 
people,  who  seemed  truly  honest,  sympathized  sincerely  for  my 
mishap,  and  thought  it  a  great  marvel  that  my  life  had  been 
aparcd  For  myself,  when  I  lay  down  on  the  tiled  floor  to  pasa 
another  night  of  sleepless  martyrdom  to  fleas  and  the  toothache,  J 
involuntarily  said,  with  a  slight  variation  of  Touchstone's  sage  re- 
flection :  "Aye,  now  I  am  in  Guadalajara;  the  more  fool  I,* 
when  I  was  at  homo  I  was  in  a  better  place ;  but  travelers  most 
be  content. " 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

TEREE   DAYS  IN   GUADALAJARA. 

When  I  got  off  my  horse  at  the  Meson  de  la  Merced,  I  told 
the  host  and  the  keeper  of  the  fonda  that  I  had  been  robbed, 
that  I  had  no  money,  and  did  not  expect  to  have  any  for  two  oi 
three  days.  "  No  hact  nada^''''  said  they,  "  you  may  stay  as  long 
as  you  like."  So  they  gave  my  horse  a  sheaf  of  oja  and  myself  a 
supper  of  tortillas  and  pepper-sauce.  The  old  lady  who  kept  tho 
fonda  was  of  half-Castilian  blood,  and  possessed  all  the  courtesy 
of  her  white  ancestors,  \7\i\i  the  quickness  and  vivacity  of  the  In- 
dian. She  was  never  tired  of  talking  to  me  aBout  the  strangers 
who  had  stopped  at  the  meson, — especially  of  one  whom  sho 
called  Don  Julio,  who,  knowing  little  Spanish,  frequently  accost- 
ed her  as  "  mule !"  or  "  donkey !"  for  want  of  some  other  word. 
She  would  mimic  him  with  great  apparent  delight.  She  had 
throe  daughters — Felipa,  Mariquita  and  Concepcion — of  whom 
the  two  former  were  very  beautiful.  They  were  employed  in  the 
manufacture  of  rebosas,  and  being  quite  skilful  in  tending  the 
machines,  earned  a  dollar  a  day — a  considerable  sum  for  Mcwco. 
Concepcion  was  man-ied,  and  had  a  son  named  Zcnobio — a  verj 
handsome,  sprightly  little  fellow,  with  dark,  humid,  lustrous  eyes 
Tho  circumstance  of  *my  remembering  and  calling  each  one  b} 


874  ELDORADO. 

uame,  seemed  to  please  them  highly,  and  always  at  meal-time  thcj 
gathered  around  the  table,  asking  me  innumerable  questions  about 
my  country  and  my  travels. 

My  first  move  next  morning  was  to  find  the  Diligence  Office.  I 
went  into  the  main  plaza,  which  is  a  beautiful  square,  shaded  bj 
orange  trees,  and  flanked  on  two  sides  by  the  picturesque  front  Oi 
the  Cathedral  and  the  Government  Palace.  As  I  was  passing  the 
latter  building,  one  of  the  sentinels  hailed  me.  Supposing  it  to 
be  meant  in  derision,  I  paid  no  attention  to  it,  but  presently  a 
Bcrgeant,  accompanied  by  two  men,  came  after  me.  One  of  the 
latter  accosted  me  in  English,  saying  that  it  was  so  long  since  he 
had  seen  an  American,  he  hoped  I  would  stop  and  talk  with  him. 
He  was  a  Scotchman,  who  for  some  reason  had  enlisted  for  a  year 
and  had  already  served  about  half  of  his  time.  He  complained 
bitterly  of  the  bad  treatment  of  the  men,  who,  according  to  his 
story,  were  frequently  on  the  point  of  starvation.  The  Mexican 
soldiers  are  not  furnished  with  rations,  but  paid  a  small  sum  daily, 
on  which  they  support  themselves.  As  the  supplies  from  head- 
quarters are  very  irregular,  and  a  system  of  appropriation  is  prac- 
tised by  all  the  officers  through  whose  hands  they  must  come,  the 
men  arc  sometimes  without  food  for  a  day  or  two,  and  never  re- 
ceive more  than  is  barely  sufficient  for  their  wants.  The  poor 
Scotchman  was  heartily  sick  of  his  situation  and  told  me  he  would 
have  deserted  long  before,  only  that  he  had  no  other  clothes  ii» 
which  to  disguise  himself. 

At  the  office  of  the  Diligence,  I  found  the  admimstradcr,  Don 
tiOrcnzD  del  Castafio,  to  whom  I  related  my  story  and  showed  my 
draft.  "  Es  superior,^'  said  he,  after  examining  it,  and  then  told 
mo  to  call  the  next  morning,  as  he  would  see  a  merchant  in  the 
meantime  who,  he  was  sure,  would  pay  mo  the  amount.    Draftf 


FIWANCIERINO  878 

on  the  city  of  Mcidco  were  at  a  premium  of  two  per  cent,  and  he 
nad  no  difficulty  in  getting  it  accepted.  The  money,  however, 
was  paid  to  me  in  quarter-dollars,  reals  and  medios,  which  ii 
took  me  more  than  an  hour  to  count.  I  went  hack  to  the  office^ 
with  a  heavy  canvas-bag  in  each  pocket,  paid  all  the  money  to  the 
administrador,  who  gave  me  a  ticket  for  the  next  stage  to  Mexico, 
and  an  order  for  the  residue  on  all  the  agents  of  the  hne  By 
exhibiting  these  orders  at  the  different  stopping-places  on  the  road, 
the  traveler  receives  credit  for  aU  his  expenses,  the  amount  at 
each  place  being  endorsed  at  the  bottom,  and  the  remainder,  if 
any,  paid  on  his  arrival  at  Mexico.  By  this  means,  he  is  8avcd 
the  necessity  of  taking  any  money  with  him,  and  may  verify  the 
old  Latin  proverb  by  whistling  in  the  face  of  the  robber.  I  waa 
thus  led,  perforce,  to  give  up  my  original  plan  of  traveling  on 
horseback  to  Mexico,  by  way  of  Lake  Chapala,  Zamora,  thi 
ancient  city  of  Morelia  and  the  valley  of  Toluca.  This  route 
offered  less  of  general  interest  than  that  of  Lagos  and  Guanajuato, 
but  had  the  attraction  of  being  little  traveled  by  strangers  and 
uttle  known.  Perhaps  I  lost  nothing  by  the  change,  for  the  hills 
near  Zamora  are  robber-ground,  and  I  had  no  desire  to  look  into 
the  barrels  of  three  or  four  leveled  muskets  a  second  time. 

I  found  Guadalajara  in  a  state  of  terror  and  prayers.  For  • 
month  previous  the  inhabitants  had  been  expecting  the  arrival  of 
the  Cholera,  now  that  its  ravages  in  Durango  and  Zacatecas  were 
over.  The  city  authorities  were  doing  everything  in  their  power 
to  hasten  its  approach,  by  prohibiting  all  public  amusements  and 
inutituting  solemn  religious  festivals.  The  Cathedral  was  at  aD 
times  crowded  with  worshippers,  the  Host  frequently  carried 
through  the  streets,  gunpowder  burned  and  rockets  sent  up  to 
propitiate  the  Virgin     As  yet  no  case  had  been  reported  in  thi 


870  ELDORADO. 

city,  thougli  tlicrc  were  rumors  of  ficvcral  in  tlio  ncigliboring 
villages.  The  convicts  were  brought  out  every  morning  in  long 
gangs,  chained  together,  each  man  carrying  a  broom  made  of  smaU 
twigs.  Commencing  with  the  centre  of  the  city,  they  were  kept 
sweeping  the  whole  day,  tiU  all  the  principal  streets  were  left  without 
a  particle  of  dust  or  filth.  The  clanking  of  their  fetters  was  con- 
stantly heard  in  some  part  of  the  city ;  the  officers  who  walked 
behind  them  carried  short  whips,  with  which  they  occasionally 
went  up  and  down  the  lines,  giving  each  man  a  blow.  This 
iaily  degradation  and  abuse  of  criminals  was  cruel  and  repulsive. 
The  men,  low  and  debased  as  they  were,  could  not  have  been 
mtircly  devoid  of  shame,  the  existence  of  which  always  renders 
reclamation  possible ;  but  familiarity  with  ignominy  soon  breeds 
&  hardened  indifference  which  meets  the  pride  of  honesty  with  an 
equal  pride  of  evil. 

Guadalajara  is  considered  the  most  beautiful  city  in  Mexico 
Seated  on  a  shelf  of  the  table-land,  between  three  and  four  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  sea,  it  enjoys  a  milder  climate  than  the  capital, 
and  while  its  buildmgs  lack  very  little  of  the  magnificence  of  the 
latter,  its  sti'cets  arc  a  model  of  cleanliness  and  order.  The  block 
fronting  on  the  north  side  of  the  plaza,  is  a  single  solid  edifice  of 
stone,  called  the  Cortaly  with  a  broad  corridor,  supported  on  stone 
arches,  nmning  around  it.  The  adjoining  block  is  bmlt  on  the 
aame  plan,  and  occupied  entirely  by  shops  of  all  kinds.  Shielded 
alike  from  rain  and  sun,  it  is  a  favorite  promenade,  and  always  wears 
a  gay  and  busy  aspect.  The  intervals  between  the  pillars,  next  the 
sti-eet,  are  filled  with  cases  of  toys,  pictm'cs,  gilt  images  of  saints,  oi 
gaudy  slippers,  sai-apcs  and  rebosas.  Hero  the  rancheros  may  be 
seen  in  abundance,  buying  ornaments  for  the  next  festivals.  Ven- 
ders of  IJuit  sit  at  the  corners,  theu-  mats  filled  with  fragrant  and 


THE   COSTAL NOTORIETT.  377 

gleaming  pyramids,  and  the  long  shelves  of  cool  barley-water  and 
iejpacke,  ranged  in  glasses  of  alternate  white  and  pnrplt,  attract 
the  tliirsty  idler.  Here  and  there  a  group  is  gathered  around 
a  placard  pasted  on  the  wall — some  religious  edict  of  the  cholera 
fearing  authorities,  a  list  of  the  fortunate  tickets  in  the  last  lof 
tery,  or  the  advertisement  of  a  magnificent  cock-fight  that  is  ui 
come  off  in  the  old  town  of  Uruapan.  The  bulletm  at  the  lottery- 
office  is  always  surrounded  ;  rancheros,  housemaids,  padres  and 
robbers  come  up,  pull  out  their  tickets  from  under  their  cassocks 
and  dirty  sarapes,  compare  the  numbers  and  walk  away  with  the 
most  complete  indifference  at  their  ill  luck.  The  shops  belonging 
to  different  trades  are  always  open  ;  tailors  and  shoemakers  fre- 
quently sit  in  groups  in  the  open  corridor,  with  their  work  on 
their  knees,  undisturbed  by  the  crowds  that  pass  to  and  fro.  I 
spent  several  hours  daily  in  the  corialj  never  tiring  of  the  pictur- 
esque life  it  exhibited. 

It  is  remarkable  how  soon  a  man's  misfortunes  arc  made  public 
The  second  day  of  my  stay  in  Guadalajara,  I  believe  I  was  known 
to  most  of  the  inhabitants  as  "  the  American  who  was  robbed.*' 
This,  together  with  my  rugged  and  dusty  suit  of  clothing,  (what 
was  left  of  it,)  made  mc  the  subject  of  general  notice  ;  so,  after 
selling  my  draft,  I  hastened  to  disgxuse  myself  in  a  white  shirt 
and  a  pair  of  Mexican  pantaloons.  One  benefit  of  this  notoriety 
was,  that  it  was  the  means  of  my  becoming  acquainted  with  two 
or  three  American  residents,  and  through  them,  with  several  intel- 
ligent an  1  agreeable  citizens.  I  never  entered  a  place  under  such 
woful  auspices,  nor  passed  the  time  of  my  stay  more  delightfully.  Id 
walking  about  the  streets  I  was  often  hailed  with  the  word  "  uisili  /" 
oy  some  of  tlio  lower  class.  From  the  sound  I  thought  it  might 
pofisibly  be  an  old  Aztec  word  of  salutation ;  but  one  day  I  met  f 


378  ELDORADO. 

man,  who,  as  he  fiald  it,  held  up  a  bottle  of  mescal,  and  I  saw  %1 
once  that  ho  meant  whiskey.  The  fact  that  it  was  constantly  r .' 
peatcd  to  me  as  an  American,  gave  rather  a  curious  inference 
as  to  the  habits  of 'the  emigrants  who  had  passed  through  the  cif^ 
before  rao. 

The  appearance  of  Guadalajara  on  Sunday  morning  was  very 
cheerful  and  beautiful.  Everybody  was  in  the  streets,  though  not 
more  than  half  the  shops  were  closed  ;  the  bells  rang  at  interral? 
from  the  cathedral  and  different  churches ;  the  rancheros  flocLed 
in  from  the  country,  the  men  in  snow-white  shirts  and  blue  cal- 
zoneros,  the  women  in  their  best  rebosas  and  petticoats  of  some 
gay  color ;  and  the  city,  clean  swept  by  the  convicts,  and  flooded 
with  warm  sunshine,  seemed  to  give  itself  up  truly  to  a  holiday.  1 
walked  down  along  the  banks  of  the  little  river  which  divides  it 
into  two  unequal  parts.  The  pink  towers  of  the  Bishop's  Palace 
rose  lightly  in  the  air  ;  up  a  long  street,  the  gateway  of  the  Con- 
vent of  San  Francisco  stood  relieved  against  a  shaded  court-yard  • 
the  palms  in  some  of  the  near  gardens  rustled  in  a  slow  breeze, 
but  the  dark  shafts  of  the  cypress  were  silent  and  immovable. 
Along  the  parapets  of  the  bridges,  the  rancheros  displayed  their  fag- 
gots of  sugar-cane  and  bunches  of  bananas,  chatting  gaily  ^vith  each 
ether,  and  with  their  neighbors  who  passed  by  on  mules  or  asses 
T  visited  most  of  the  churches  during  the  time  of  service.  Many 
•if  them  arc  spacious  and  might  be  made  impressive,  but  they  are 
all  disfigured  by  a  tawdry  and  tasteless  style  of  ornament,  a  pro- 
fusion of  glaring  paint  and  gilding,  ghastly  statues,  and  shocking 
pictures.  The  church  of  the  Convent  of  San  Francisco  is  partly 
an  exception  to  this  censure ;  in  a  sore  of  loggia  it  has  a  large 
painting  of  the  Last  Supper,  by  a  Mexican  artist,  which  is  truly  a 
vork  of  great  beauty.     Id  the  body  of  the  church  aie  sevo^al  m> 


MOVABLE    FORTRESSES  879 

floubted  onginals  by  Murillo,  though  not  of  bis  best  period ;  T  (lid 
not  see  them.  The  cathedral,  more  majestic  in  proportion,  is 
likewise  more  simple  and  severe  in  its  details ;  its  double  row  of 
columns,  forming  three  aisles,  the  central  one  supporting  a  low 
bme,  have  a  grand  effect  when  viewed  from  the  entrance.  It  wuu 
constantly  filled  with  worshippers,  most  of  whom  were  driven 
thither  by  the  approach  of  the  cholera.  Even  in  passing  its  door, 
as  they  crossed  the  plaza,  the  inhabitants  uncovered  or  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross — an  extent  of  devotion  which  I  never  wit- 
nessed out  of  Mexico. 

I  found  great  source  for  amusement  in  the  carriages  collected 
near  the  doors  during  mass-hour.  They  were  all  the  manufacture 
of  the  country,  and  the  most  of  them  dated  from  the  last  century. 
The  running  works  were  of  immense  size,  the  four  wheels  sustain- 
ing a  massive  and  elaborately  carved  frame,  rising  five  or  six  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  about  twelve  feet  in  length.  In  the  centre 
of  this,  suspended  in  some  miraculous  manner,  hung  a  largo 
wooden  globe,  with  a  door  in  each  side — a  veritable  Noah's  Ark 
in  form  and  solidity,  and  capable  of  concealing  a  whole  family 
(and  the  Mexican  families  are  always  large)  in  its  hollow  maw. 
These  machines  were  frequently  made  still  more  ridiculous  by  tho 
pair  of  dwarfed,  starved  mules,  hitched  to  the  tongue,  so  far  in  ad- 
vance that  they  seemed  to  be  running  away  from  the  mountain 
which  pursued  and  was  about  to  overwhelm  them.  I  concluded, 
however,  after  some  reflection,  that  they  were  peculiarly  adapted 
to  the  country.  In  case  of  revolution  they  would  be  not  only 
bullet  but  bomb  proof,  and  as  there  are  no  good  roads  among  the 
mountains,  they  would  roll  from  top  to  bottom,  or  shoot  off  a  pr» 
eipice,  without  danger  to  the  family  within.  There  are  several 
extensive  carriage  manufactories  in  Guadalajara,  but  the  modcro 


6S0  ELDORAtJO. 

fabrics  more  nearly  resemble  those  of  our  own  cities,  retaining 
only  the  heavy,  carved  frame-work,  on  which  the  body  rests. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  with  some  friends  to  make  a  pcsco  or 
the  Alameda.  This  is  a  beautiful  square  on  the  border  of  the  city 
ahttdcd  with  fine  trees,  and  traversed  by  pleasant  walks,  radiating 
from  fountains  in  the  centre.  It  is  suiToundcd  by  a  hedge  ol 
roses,  which  bloom  throughout  the  whole  year,  covering  with  a 
fragrant  shade  the  long  stone  benches  on  which  the  citizens  repose, 
Don  and  ranchero  mingled  together,  smoking  their  puros  and 
eigaritos.  The  drive  is  around  the  outside  of  the  Alameda ;  1 
aaw  but  a  small  part  of  the  fashion  of  Guadalajara,  as  most  of  tho 
families  were  remaining  at  home  to  invito  the  cholera.  There 
were  some  handsome  turn-outs,  and  quite  a  number  of  splendid 
horses,  ridden  in  the  Mexican  style,  which  is  perfection  itself — 
horse  and  rider  moving  as  one  creature,  and  having,  apparently, 
but  one  soul.  The  Mexican  horses  are  all  sprung  from  tho 
Arabic  and  Andalusian  stock  introduced  into  the  country  by 
Oortez,  and  those  large  bands  which  run  wild  on  the  plains  of  Sar 
Joaquin  and  in  the  Camanche  country,  probably  differ  but  slightly 
from  the  Arab  horse  of  the  present  day. 

A  still  more  beautiful  scene  awaited  us  in  the  evening.  Tho 
paseo  is  then  transferred  to  the  plaza,  and  all  the  fashionable  popu- 
lation appears  on  foot — a  custom  which  I  found  in  no  other  Mexi- 
can city.  I  went  there  at  nine  o'clock.  The  full  moon  was 
shining  down  over  the  cathedral  towers  ;  the  plaza  was  almost  as 
distinct  as  by  day,  except  that  the  shadows  were  deeper ;  the 
trhite  arches  and  pillars  of  the  cortal  were  defined  brilliantly 
against  the  black  gloom  of  the  corridor,  and  the  rows  of  orange 
trees,  with  their  leaves  glittering  in  the  moonlight,  gave  out  a  rare 
and  exquisi:o  odor  from  their  hidden  blossoms.     We  sat  down  or 


TROPIC  BEAUTY  BT  MOONLIGHT.  381 

one  of  the  benches,  so  near  the  thron;;  of  promcnadcrs  passing 
around  the  plaza,  that  their  dresses  brushed  our  feet.  The  ladicp 
were  in  full  druss,  with  their  heads  uncovered,  and  there  wcrr 
many  specimens  of  tropic  beauty  among  them.     The  faint  clcai 

olive  of  their  complexion,  like  a  warm  sunset-light  on  alabaster 

tne  deep,  dark,  languishing  eye,  with  the  full  drooping  lid  thai 
would  fain  conceal  its  fire — the  ripe  voluptuous  lip — the  dark  hair 
whose  silky  waves  would  have  touched  the  ground  had  they  been 
unbound — and  the  pliant  grace  and  fullness  of  the  form,  formed 
together  a  type  of  beauty,  which  a  little  queenly  ambition  would 
have  moulded  into  a  living  Cleopatra.  A  German  band  in  front 
3f  the  cathedral  played  "  God  save  the  King"  and  some  of  the 
melodies  oi  the  Fatherland.  About  ten  o'clock,  the  throng  began 
to  disperse ;  wc  sat  nearly  an  hour  longer,  enjoying  the  delicious 
moonlight,  coolness  and  fragrance,  and  when  I  lay  down  agaui  on 
the  tiles,  so  far  from  thinking  of  Touchstone,  I  felt  glad  and  grate- 
ful for  having  seen  Guadalajai-a. 

Among  the  Guadalajarans  I  met  was  Don  Ramon  Luna,  a 
gentleman  of  great  intelligence  and  refinement.  His  father 
emigrated  from  Spain  as  a  soldier  in  the  ranks,  but  by  pru- 
dence, energy,  and  native  talent,  succeeded  in  amassing  a 
large  fortune.  Don  Ramon  spoke  English  and  French  with 
great  fluency,  and  was,  moreover,  very  enthusiastic  on  the 
subject  of  Mexican  antiquities.  At  his  ranche,  a  few  leagues 
from  Guadalajara,  he  had,  as  he  informed  me,  a  large  number 
of  ancient  idols  and  fossil  remains,  which  the  workmen  had 
collected  by  his  order.  I  regretted  that  the  shortness  of  my 
stay  did  not  permit  me  to  call  on  Padre  Hajar,  of  the  Convent 
del  Carmen,  who  formerly  resided  in  Philadelphia,  and  pub- 
lished a  very  able  work  on  the  Otomai  language. 
The  diligence  was  to  start  on  Monday.  On  Saturday  afternoon 


382  ELDORADO. 

I  sold  my  horse  to  a  sort  of  trader  living  in  tho  meson,  for  seven 
dollars,  as  ho  was  somewhat  worn  out,  and  horses  were  cheap  ii: 
Guadalajara.  The  parting  with  my  good  hosts  the  next  day  was 
rather  more  difficult,  and  I  was  obliged  to  make  a  positive  promise 
of  return  within  three  years,  before  they  would  consent  that  I 
■hould  go.  After  I  had  obtained  some  money  and  paid  them  for 
my  board,  the  old  lady  told  me  that  thenceforth  she  would  only 
charge  half-price  for  every  meal  I  chose  to  take  in  her  house 
"  Thanks  to  the  Supreme  King,"  said  she,  "  I  have  not  been  so 
much  in  need  that  I  should  treat  friends  and  strangers  both  alike." 
After  this,  I  only  paid  a  medio  for  my  dinner  of  eggs,  frijoles, 
lantecas  and  chili  Colorado.  On  Sunday  night  I  rolled  up  my 
few  possessions  in  my  sarape,  took  leave  of  the  family  and  went 
to  the  Casa  de  Diligencias  to  spend  the  night.  The  old  hostess 
threw  her  arms  around  me  and  gave  me  a  hearty  embrace,  and 
the  three  daughters  followed  her  example.  I  did  not  dislike  this 
expression  of  friendship  and  regret,  for  they  were  quite  beautiful. 
As  I  went  down  the  court-yard,  the  voice  of  the  mother  followed 
mc :  "Go  with  Ave  IMaria  Furisima,  and  do  not  forgot  Maria  de 
la  Ascencion  Hidalgo !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

IN    THl    DILIGENCE    TO    GUANAJUATO 

The  inozo  awoke  me  shortly  after  three  o'clock,  and  before  ] 
had  finished  dressing,  brought  me  a  cup  of  foaming  chocolate  and 
a  biscuit.  The  only  other  passenger  was  a  student  from  Tcpic, 
on  his  return  to  college,  in  Mexico.  The  stage  already  waited  for 
OS,  and  we  had  no  sooner  taken  our  seats  on  the  leather  cushions, 
than  "  i*fl?7io«os .'"  cried  the  driver,  the  whip  cracked  and  the 
wheels  thundered  along  the  silent,  moonlit  streets.  The  morning 
was  chill,  and  there  was  little  in  the  dim  glimpses  of  adobe  walls 
and  blank  fields  on  either  hand,  to  interest  us ;  so  wo  lay  back  in 
the  comers  and  took  another  nap. 

The  style  of  diligence  travel  in  Mexico  is  preferable  to  that  of 
any  other  country.  The  passenger  is  waked  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  has  a  cup  of  chocolate  brought  him,  (and  no  one  has 
diank  chocolate  who  has  not  drank  it  there)  takes  his  seat,  ltd  has 
Dearly  reached  the  end  of  the  second  post  by  sunrise.  The  heavy 
itage,  of  Troy  manufactuie,  is  drawn  by  six  horses,  four  leaders 
abreast,  who  go  at  a  dashing  galloji  as  long  as  the  road  is  level 
About  eleven  o  clock  a  breakfast  cf  six  or  eight  courses  is  served 
op  in  good  style,  the  coachman  waiting  until  the  last  man  has 
'•cisurelv  finished.     There  is  no  twanging  of  the  horn  and  cry  ol 


384  ISLDORADO. 

*  All  ready  !"  before  one  has  bolted  the  first  mouthful  OIF  again, 
Uioro  is  no  stoppage  till  the  day's  journey  is  over,  which  is  gener- 
ally about  four  o'clock,  allowing  ample  time  for  a  long  walk  and 
iifflit-seeinjn  before  dinner. 

Tlie  second  post  brought  us  to  the  Rio  Santiago,  which  I  had 
crossed  once  between  Mazatlan  and  Tepic.  Wo  got  out  to  looi 
at  the  old  stone  bridge  and  the  mist  of  a  cataract  that  rose  above 
the  banks,  two  or  three  hundred  yards  below.  Our  road  lay  across 
broad,  stony  tracts  of  country,  diversified  by  patches  of  cactus ; 
in  the  distance,  the  mountain  parapet  of  a  still  higher  table-land 
was  to  be  seen.  The  third  post,  thirty  miles  from  Guadalajara, 
was  at  the  village  of  Zapotlanejo,  where  the  cholera  had  already 
appeared.  The  groom  who  assisted  in  harnessing  our  fresh  horses, 
inforn\ed  us  that  twenty  persons  had  died  of  it.  The  place  looked 
quiet  and  half-deserted ;  many  of  the  houses  were  studded  with 
little  wooden  crosses,  stuck  into  the  chinks  of  the  adobes.  The 
village  of  Tcpatitlan,  which  we  passed  during  the  forenoon,  was 
likewise  a  cholera  locality.  "We  dashed  through  it  and  over  a  bare, 
bleak  upland,  many  leagues  in  width,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood 
the  Eaucho  de  la  Tierra  Colorada,  (E-anche  of  the  Red  Earth)  our 
brcakfast-placc. 

During  the  afternoon  wo  crossed  a  very  rough  and  stony  bar- 
ranca. The  chasm  at  the  bottom  was  spanned  by  a  fine  bridge, 
fiod  eight  cream-colored  mules  were  in  readiness  to  take  us  up  the 
ascmt.  Even  after  reaching  the  level,  the  road  was  terribly  rough 
and  thu  bounds  which  our  stage  made  as  it  whirled  along,  threat- 
ened to  Jisjoiut  every  limb  in  our  bodies.  I  received  a  stunning 
blow  on  the  crown  of  my  head,  from  being  thrown  up  violently 
Bgainst  the  roof.  AYc  were  truly  rejoiced  when,  late  in  the  aftcr- 
Qoon,  we  saw  the  little  town  of  San  Miguel  before  us,  in  a  hollow 


SAN   JUAN    IjE    LOS    LAGOS.  38o 

Jip  of  the  jilaia.  We  finished  a  ride  of  ninety  miles  as  we  drove 
into  it,  and  found  the  stage  from  Lagos  alrcadj-  before  the  hotel. 
The  town  did  not  boast  a  single  "  sight,"  so  uiy  companion  and  1 
took  a  siesta  until  dinner  was  announced. 

^  The  next  morning  our  route  lay  over  the  dreary  table-laud, 
avoiding  the  many  chasms  and  barrancas  with  which  its  surfacf- 
was  seamed  :  often  running  upon  a  narrow  ridgo,  with  a  gaping 
hollow  on  each  side.  The  rancheros  were  ploughing  in  some 
places,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  soil  seemed  to  be  given  up  to 
pasturage.  Tlie  fields  were  divided  by  walls  of  stone,  but  fre- 
quently, in  the  little  villages,  a  species  of  cactus  had  been  planted 
io  as  to  form  gardens  and  corrals,  its  straight,  single  pillars  stand- 
ing side  by  side,  to  the  height  of  ten  feet,  with  scarcely  a  crevice 
between.  The  people  we  met,  were  more  hale  and  ruddy  in 
their  appearance  than  those  of  the  Tierra  Caliante.  As  they  gal- 
loped alongside  the  stage,  with  their  hats  oiF,  speaking  with  the 
'Iriver,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  more  lightly  and  strongly  made 
forms,  or  more  perfect  teeth.  When  they  laughed,  their  mouths 
seemed  to  blaze  with  the  sparkling  white  rows  exhibited.  To- 
wards noon,  we  saw,  far  ahead,  the  tops  of  two  towers,  that  ap- 
peared to  rise  out  of  the  earth.  They  belonged  to  the  church  of 
San  Juan  de  Los  Lagos,  the  place  of  the  great  Annual  Fair  of 
Mexico — a  city  of  five  tliousand  inhabitants,  built  at  the  bottom 
of  a  deep  circular  basin,  whose  rim  is  only  broken  on  one  side  by 
a  gash  which  let3  out  the  waters  it  collects  in  the  rainy  season. 
Seen  from  the  edge  of  the  basin,  just  before  you  commence  the 
descent,  a  more  fantastic  picture  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 
The  towers  of  the  church  are  among  the  tallest  in  Mexico.  During 
the  Fair,  the  basin  is  filled  to  its  brim,  and  a  tent-city,  containing 
from  three  hundred  thousand  to  half  a  million  inhabitants,  i^ 

n 


386  ELDORADO. 

nlanted  in  it  From  Sonora  to  Oajaca,  all  Mexico  is  there,  witl 
a  good  representation  from  Santa  Fe,  Texas  and  California.  We 
descended  by  a  zigzag  road,  of  splendid  masonry,  crossed  the  gul- 
ley  at  the  bottom  by  a  superb  bridge,  and  stopped  at  the  Diligcucfl 
Hotel  for  breakfast.  The  town  was  at  prayers,  on  account  ol 
cholera.  Five  hundred  people  had  already  died,  and  the  epidemic 
was  just  beginning  to  abate.  I  saw  several  of  the  ignorant  popu- 
lace issue  from  their  huts  on  their  knees,  and  thus  climb  tlieii 
painful  way  up  the  hUl  to  the  cathedral,  saying  paternosters  as 
they  went.  Two  attendants  went  before,  spreading  sarapes  on 
the  stones,  to  save  their  knees,  and  taking  "^hem  up  after  they  had 
passed.  We  ate  a  hearty  breakfast  in  spite  of  the  terror  around 
us,  and  resuming  our  seats  in  the  diligence,  were  whirled  over 
hill  and  plain  till  we  saw  the  beautiful  churches  of  Lagos  in  the 
distance.  At  the  hotel,  wl  found  the  stage  from  Zacatecas  just 
in,  bringing  passengers  for  Mexico. 

I  took  an  afternoon  stroll  through  Lagos,  visiting  the  market- 
place and  principal  churches,  but  four»d  nothing  worthy  of  parti- 
cular note.  We  arose  in  the  moonlight,  chocolated  in  the  comedoTy 
or  dining-hall,  and  took  our  seats — seven  in  all — in  the  diligence 
We  speedily  left  the  neat,  gay  and  pleasant  city  behind  us,  and 
began  a  journey  which  promised  to  be  similar  to  that  of  the  two 
preceding  days — a  view  of  barren  table-land,  covered  with  stone 
fences  and  cactus  hedges,  on  either  side,  and  blue  mountains  ever 
in  far  perspective.  With  the  sun,  however,  things  looked  more 
sheerful,  and  soon  after  entering  on  the  third  post,  we  climbed  & 
Btony  ctrroj  from  which  opened  a  splendid  view  of  the  Valley  ol 
Leon.  Far  as  the  vision  extended,  the  effect  was  still  heightened 
by  a  veil  of  thin  blue  vapor  which  arose  from  the  broad  leagues  o! 
Geld  and  meadow  below  uq.     In  the  centre  of  the  picture  rose  lb* 


THE    VALLEY    OF    L£OI».  387 

npires  of  Villa  de  Leon,  from  the  midst  of  green  bailey-fields  and 
gardens  of  fruit  trees.  To  the  eastward,  beyond  the  valley — which 
to  the  south  melted  into  the  sky  without  a  barrier — ran  the  hi^> 
and  rocky  ranges  of  the  mineral  mountains  of  Guanajuato.  We 
had  nearly  crossed  the  table-land  of  the  Pacific  side  of  Mexico, 
and  these  hills  were  spurs  from  the  spinal  ridge  of  the  Continent, 

Our  horses  galloped  into  Leon — ^a  large  and  lively  town,  which 
pleased  me  much  better  than  Lagos.  We  had  a  capital  breakfast 
of  eight  courses  in  the  hall  of  the  Sociedad  del  Comerdo,  and  took 
ID  two  fresh  passengers,  which  just  filled  the  diligence.  Dashing 
out  of  the  town,  the  road  led  over  the  level  plain,  between  fields 
and  gardens  of  great  fertility.  Li  the  soft  morning  light,  the 
animation  and  beauty  of  the  scene  were  delightful.  The  pcoM 
were  everywhere  at  work  in  the  fields,  watering  the  trees  and  vege- 
tables from  wells,  out  of  which  they  drew  the  water  with  long  poles. 
A.t  a  bridge  over  the  dry  bed  of  a  river  near  the  town,  I  noticed  a 
gang  of  about  fifty  ferocious  fellows,  in  ragged  sarapes.  Several 
soldiers,  well  armed,  paced  up  and  down  the  road,  and  I  after- 
wards learned  that  the  diligence  was  frequently  robbed  thero.  Two 
long  posts  down  the  valley,  made  with  horses  going  a  carrera^ 
brought  us  to  Silao.  While  the  grooms  were  changing  teams,  wc 
•rapplied  ourselves  with  oranges,  bananas,  zapotes  chicoi  and 
granaditas  de  China.  The  latter  fruit  is  about  the  size  of  an 
egg,  with  a  brittle  shell  of  a  bright  scarlet  color,  inside  of  which 
b  a  soft  white  sack.  Breaking  this  open,  the  tender,  fi-agrant 
pulp  is  revealed — the  most  dainty,  exquisite  thing  that  Nature  ever 
oompounded.  We  also  bought  an  armful  of  sugar-cane,  which  we 
hung  on  the  umbrella-hooks,  and  chopped  up  and  chewed  ai 
thirst  required 

From  Silao  to  Guanajuato  is  but  one  post.     Leaving  tho  fonnei 


jJ88  ELDOUAUU. 

place,  wc  approaelicd  a  cape  of  tLc  mountains,  and  ti-avclcd  foi 
several  miles  over  wild  bills  covered  witli  immense  cactus  trees, 
tLc  trunksof  many  of  tbcm  measuring  two  feet  in  diameter.  From 
the  summit  vro  looked  down  into  a  large  mountain-basin,  opening 
tovrards  tbe  south  into  the  A''allcy  of  Leon.  On  its  opposite  side, 
among  mountains  whose  summits  are  the  more  sterile  from  tho 
glittering  veins  of  precious  ore  within,  we  saw  tho  walls  of  some  ol 
the  mining  establishments  of  Guanajuato. 

Of  all  places  in  Mexico,  the  situation  of  this  city  is  the  most 
picturesque  and  remarkable.  It  lies  like  an  enchanted  city, 
biu'ied  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Entering  a  rocky  cafiada. 
the  bottom  of  which  barely  affords  room  for  the  road,  you  pass 
between  high  adobe  walls,  above  which,  up  the  steep,  rise  tier 
above  tier  of  blank,  windowlcss,  sun-dried  houses,  looking  as  ii 
they  had  grown  out  of  the  eart]i.  You  would  take  them  to  be  a 
sort  of  cubic  chrystalization  of  the  soil.  Every  corner  in  the  wind- 
mgs  of  the  road  is  filled  with  the  buildings  of  mining  companies — 
huge  fortresses  of  stone,  ramparted  as  if  for  defence.  The  scene 
varies  with  every  moment; — now  you  look  up  to  a  church  with 
purple  dome  and  painted  towers ;  now  the  blank  adobe  walls,  with 
here  and  there  a  spiry  cypress  or  graceful  palm  between  them, 
rise  far  above  you,  along  the  steep  ledges  of  the  mountain  ;  and 
again,  the  mountain  itself,  with  its  waste  of  rock  and  cactus,  is  all 
you  see.  The  cafiada  finally  seems  to  close.  A  precipico  ol 
rock — out  of  a  rift  in  which  the  stream  flows — shuts  up  the  pas- 
flagc.  Ascending  this  by  a  twist  in  the  road,  you  are  in  the  hear*, 
of  the  city.  Lying  partly  in  the  narrow  bed  of  the  ravine  and 
partly  on  its  sides  and  in  its  lateral  branches,  it  is  only  by  mount- 
ing to  some  higlier  eminence  that  one  can  realize  its  extent  and 
position      At  the  farther  end  of  the  city  the  mountains  form  H 


GUANAJUATO    AND    ITS   MINES.  389 

cul  dt  sac.  Tlie  cafiada  is  a  blind  passage,  and  you  can  onlj 
leave  it  by  the  road  you  came.  The  streets  arc  narrow,  crooked, 
and  ran  up  and  down  in  all  directions ;  there  is  no  room  foi 
plasas  nor  alaraodas.  A  little  triangular  space  in  front  of  tbr 
calliodral,  however,  aspires  to  the  former  title.  The  city  remindod 
IP5  of  descriptions  of  the  old  IMoorish  towns  of  Spain — not  as  the j 
now  exist,  but  as  they  stood  in  the  fourteenth  century. 

In  the  afternoon  I  took  a  walk  through  the  city,  climbing  one 
of  the  hills  to  a  cross  planted  on  a  small  rocky  point  under  tho 
tbrtress  of  San  Miguel.  Thence  I  could  look  down  on  the  twisted 
streets  and  flat  liousc-tops,  and  tho  busy  flood  of  life  circulating 
through  all.  The  churches,  with  then-  painted  spires  and  domes, 
gave  a  bizarre  and  picturesque  character  to  the  scene.  Off  to  tho 
norlJi,  in  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  I  could  see  the  entrances  to 
the  silver  mines,  and  tho  villages  of  the  mining  communities 
Around  Guanajuato  there  are  more  than  a  hundred  mines,  cm 
ploying  about  seventy-five  thousand  workmen.  The  business  of 
Guanajuato  is  now  very  flourishing,  the  mines  havmg  in  1S49 
yielded  $8,400,000,  or  $600,000  more  th*'.a  tlie  pre^•ious  year. 
New  mines  have  been  opened  on  tho  rich  vein  of  La  Luz,  wliicK 
will  soon  be  in  a  producing  state,  and  promise  much  higher  results. 
There  is  a  fascination  about  the  business,  which  is  almost  equal  to 
that  of  play.  The  lucky  discoverer  of  a  new  mine  will  frcqucntlj 
squander  away  the  sudden  wealth  he  has  acquired  in  a  week's  dia- 

ipation.     The  wages  of  the  common  workmen  vary  from  foul 
reals  to  two  dollars  a  day. 

IJcforc  night  I  visited  the  cathedral  and  tho  churches  of  San 
Diego  and  San  FcUpc — the  latter  a  dark  old  structure,  covered 
with  quaint,  half-Gothic  omaiaents,  its  front  shaded  by  several 

tail  cypresses     In  tho  church  of  San  Diego,  i  saw  a  picturo  <rf 


390  ELDORADO. 

erc&t  beauty,  of  the  Murillo  school,  but  hardly,  I  think,  an  on 
ginal  of  the  renowned  master  of  Spanish  painting.     After  dinner 
while  wandering  about,  looking  at  the  fruit-stands,  which  wore 
lighted  with  a  red  glow  by  smoky  torches,  I  witnessed  a  curiou? 
ceremony.     One  of  a  band  of  robbers,  who  had  been  taken  and 
convicted,  was  to  be  shot  the  next  morning.     All  the  bells  in  the 
city  commenced  tolling  at  sunset,  and  the  incessant  dmg-dong 
they  kept  up  for  nearly  two  hours,  was  enough  to  drive  one  fran 
tic.     I  heard  the  sound  of  music,  and  saw  the  twinkling  of  wax 
Papers  ;  I  therefore  pressed  through  the  crowd  into  the  middle  of 
he  little  plaza,  to  obtain  a  good  view  of  the  procession.     First 
earoe  a  company  of  soldiers,  with  a  military  band,  playing  dirges  , 
iffcer  this  the  Bishop  of  the  city  bearing  the  Host,  under  a  canopy 
jf  white  and  silver,  borne  by  priests,  who  also  carried  lanterns  of 
blue  glass  ;  another  company  of  soldiers  followed,  and  after  them 

long  double  line  of  citizens,  each  of  whom  held  an  immense 
aurning  taper  in  his  hand.  With  the  clang  of  bells  and  the  wail 
)f  brazen  instruments,  they  came  towards  us.  The  thousands  in 
the  plaza  dropped  on  their  knees,  leaving  me  standing  alcne  in  tho 
jentre.  A  moment's  reflection  convinced  me  of  the  propriety  ol 
following  their  example,  so  I  sank  down  between  a  woman  with  a 
»ery  dirty  rebosa  and  a  black-bearded  fellow,  who  might  have  been 
the  comrade  of  the  comdemned  robber. 

The  procession,  keeping  a  slow  and  measured  pace,  proceeded 
U>  the  prison,  where  the  sacrament  of  extreme  unction  was  &dmin 
lst«red  to  the  criminal.  It  then  returned  to  the  cathedral,  which 
was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  filled  with  a  dense  throng  of  people 
The  military  band  was  stationed  in  the  centre,  under  the  dome, 
ind  mingled  its  harmonies  with  those  of  the  powerful  organ.  I 
eoidd  got  no  furtho:  than  the  door-way,  whence  the  whole  intcrioi 


I  HE  EVE  0?  A  robber's  DEATH.  391 

was  visible  as  a  lighted  picture,  framed  in  the  gloomy  wch  uudei 
which  I  stood.  The  rise  and  swell  of  the  choral  voices — the  deep, 
stunning  peal  of  the  bells  in  the  tower — the  solemn  attitude  of  the 
crowd,  and  the  blaze  of  light  under  which  all  these  imposing  cere 
monies  were  seen — made  a  powerful  impression  on  mo.  Th 
people  about  mc  constantly  repeated  their  paternosters,  and 
seemed  to  feel  a  deep  sympathy  with  the  convicted.  I  remem- 
bered, that  in  the  afternoon  I  had  seen  in  the  cathedral  a  man 
somewhat  advanced  in  years,  who  was  praying  with  an  intensity  oi 
grief  and  supplication  that  made  him  for  the  time  insensible  to  all 
else.  His  sobs  and  groans  were  so  violent  as  to  shake  his  whole 
frame  ;  I  had  never  seen  a  more  vehement  expression  of  anguish. 
Thinking  he  might  have  been  the  robber's  father,  I  began  to  have 
some  compassion  for  the  former,  though  now  and  then  a  wicked 
feeling  of  rejoicing  would  steal  in,  that  another  of  the  tribe  was 
soon  to  be  exterminated.  The  most  curious  feature  of  the  scene 
was  a  company  of  small  boys,  carrying  bundles  of  leaves  on  which 
jFas  printed  the  "  Last  Dying  Speech  and  Confession,"  in  poetry, 
the  burden  being  "  Adios,  Guanajuato  atnado .'"  These  boys 
were  scattered  through  the  crowd,  crying  out :  "  Here  you  have 
my  sentence,  my  confession,  my  death,  my  farewell  to  Guanajuato 
— all  for  a  cuartUla ."  The  exercises  were  kept  up  so  long,  that 
finally  I  grew  weary,  and  went  to  bed,  where  the  incessant  bells 
rang  death-knells  in  my  dreams. 

In  Guanajuato  I  tasted  pulque  for  the  first  and  last  time. 
Seeing  a  woman  at  the  corner  of  a  street  with  several  large  jars  oi 
what  I  took  to  be  barley-water,  I  purchased  a  glass.  I  can  only 
aken  the  taste  of  this  beverage  to  a  distillation  of  sour  milk  (il 
there  could  be  such  a  thing)  strongly  tinctured  with  cayenne  pep- 
oer  and  hartshorn.     Men  were  going  about  the  streets  with  cans 


392 


fiLDORAUO. 


on  tlicir  heads,  containing  ices  made  from  tropical  fruits,  whicli 
were  much  more  palatable. 

They  even  have  authors  in  Guanajuato.  On  the  theatre  bills  1 
Baw  the  announcement  that  an  original  tragedy  entitled  "  E 
Amor  Conijjigal,^^  by  a  young  Guanajuatensc,  was  in  preparation 
*  The  precious  comedy  of  the  Two  Fernandos  and  tic  Two  Pe- 
pas"  was  to  be  given  as  an  aftci-pieco— probably  a  travejsty  of  the 
'*  Comedy  of  Errors." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII.  ' 

THiC   EIVIDINQ    RIDGE,    AND    DESCENT   INTO   THE   VALl.IT    01 
MEXICO. 

We  were  roused  in  Guanajuato  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
for  the  Jornada  of  one  hundred  and  ten  miles  to  Qucrctaro.  A 
splendid  moon  was  riding  near  the  zenith,  with  her  attendant  star 
at  her  side  ;  and  by  her  light  we  drove  duovnx  the  ominous  depths 
of  the  Canada.  The  clumsy  leaves  of  the  cactus,  along  the  ledges 
of  the  hills,  seemed  in  the  uncertain  light,  like  the  heads  of  robbers 
peering  over  the  rocks; 'the  crosses  of  the  dead,  here  and  there, 
spread  out  their  black  arms,  and  we  were  not  free  from  all  ap- 
prehensions of  attack,  until,  after  a  post  of  three  leagues,  we 
reached  the  level  and  secure  land  of  the  Bajio.  Once,  only,  a 
company  of  about  twenty  wild-looking  men,  whoso  weapons  glit- 
tered in  the  moonlight,  hooted  at  us  as  we  passed  ;  we  took  them 
to  be  a  part  of  the  robber-band,  on  their  way  to  Guanajuato  to 
•vitness  the  execution  of  their  comrade. 

In  five  posts  we  reached  the  city  of  Salamanca,  where  break- 
fiist  was  already  on  the  table.  No  sooner  had  the  final  dish  of  fii- 
jolcs  and  cup  of  coffee  been  dispatched,  thsn  the  cocliero  summoned 
ns.  The  mozo  drew  away  with  a  jerk  the  rope  which  held  the 
four  leaders ;  the  horses  plunged  and  pranced  tUl  the  luuibcrin<» 
mass  of  the  diligence  began  to  move,  when  they  set  of  in  a  fuiious 


!{94  ELDORADO. 

gallop.  For  ten  miles,  over  the  level  road,  the  speed  was  scarcely 
slackened,  till  we  drew  up  at  the  next  post,  and  exchanged  out 
dusty  and  reeking  steeds  for  a  fresh  team,  as  fiery  and  furious  op 
the  first. 

The  country  through  which  we  passed,  is  one  of  the  richest 
regions  in  Mexico.  It  is  called  the  Bajio,  or  Lowland,  hut  b  ir 
fact  an  extent  of  tahle-land,  about  four  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  and  only  lower  than  the  mountain-ridges  which 
enclose  it  and  draw  from  the  upper  clouds  the  streams  that  give 
it  perpetual  growth.  From  the  city  of  Leon,  near  Lagos,  it  ex- 
tends to  San  Juan  del  Rio,  beyond  Queretaro — a  distance  of 
nearly  two  hundred  miles.  It  is  traversed  by  the  E.io  Lerma,  the 
stream  which,  rising  in  the  Volcano  of  Toluca  (the  neighbor  of 
Popocatapetl)  mingles  with  the  waters  of  Lake  Chapala,  and  after- 
i^rards — first  as  the  Rio  Blanco  and  then  as  the  Rio  Santiago — 
finds  its  way  into  the  Pacific  at  San  Bias.  This  immense  level  is 
itU  under  fine  cultivation  and  covered  with  thousand-acre  fields  of 
Vheat,  maize  and  barley  in  different  stages  of  growth.  The  white 
fronts  of  haciendas  gleamed  from  out  their  embowering  gardens, 
m  the  distance,  and  the  spires  of  the  country  towus,  rising  at  in- 
tervals, gave  life  and  animation  to  the  picture.  In  the  afternoon 
we  passed  the  city  of  Zelaya,  nearly  smothered  in  clouds  of  dust 
that  rose  from  the  dry  soil 

As  wo  reached  the  boundary  of  the  State  of  Queretaro,  eight 
Jftncers,  armed  likewise  with  escopettcs  and  holster-pistols,  gal- 
loped out  of  the  cactus  on  a  wild,  stony  hill,  and  took  their  places 
m  each  side  of  us.  They  constituted  a  military  escort  (at  the 
expense  of  the  passengers,)  to  the  gates  of  Queretaro.  With  theii 
red  pennons  fluttering  in  the  wind  and  their  rugged  little  horsea 
Bputred  into  a  gallop,  they  were  very  picturesque  objects     Oui 


A    GAY    PADRE.  395 

time  was  divided  in  watching  their  movements  and  looking  out  foi 
the  poles  planted  by  the  roadside  as  a  sign  that  roblors  had  been 
taken  and  shot  there.  My  IMcxican  foUow-travclcrs  pointed  tc 
these  tokens  of  unscrupulous  punishment  with  evident  satisfao- 
lion.  A  large  tree  near  Queretaro,  with  a  great  many  lateral 
branches,  bears  a  sign  with  the  words  "  For  Ladrones,"  (For 
Robbers,)  in  large  letters.  It  is  probably  used  when  a  whole 
company  is  caught  at  once. 

Wo  drove  into  Queretaro  after  dark,  and  the  only  glimpse  I  had 
of  the  place  was  from  the  balcony  of  the  hotel.  I  regretted  not 
having  arrived  earlier,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  the  cotton  manu- 
factory of  Don  Gaetano  Rubio,  which  is  the  largest  in  the  Repab- 
lic.  Among  the  passengers  in  the  diligence  from  Mexico,  who 
joined  us  at  the  dinner-table,  was  a  jovial  padre,  who  talked  con- 
stantly of  the  Monplaisir  troupe  of  dancers  and  Cocnen,  the 
nolinist.  In  fact,  he  was  more  familiar  with  American  and  Euro- 
pean theatricals  than  any  one  I  had  met  for  a  long  time,  and 
gave  me  a  ready  account  of  the  whereabouts  of  Cerito,  EUsler, 
Taglioni,  and  all  the  other  divinities  of  the  dance.  He  then  com- 
menced a  dissertation  upon  the  character  of  the  diflFercnt  modem 
languages.  The  English,  he  said,  was  the  language  of  commerce ; 
the  French,  of  conversation ;  the  German,  of  diplomacy,  because 
there  were  no  words  of  double  meaning  in  it ! — and  the  Spanish, 
of  devotion.  With  his  conversation  and  delightful  cigaritos,  1 
passed  the  hour  before  bed-time  very  pleasantly.  I  never  met 
mor6  lively  and  entertaining  padre. 

We  drove  to  the  town  of  San  Juan  del  Rio,  eleven  leagues  dis- 
tant, for  breakfast.  A  fresh  escort  was  given  us  at  every  post, 
for  which  a  fresh  contribution  of  two  reals  was  le^'icd  on  each  pas 
acn<»cr.     Towards  evening,  leaving  the  Bajio,  we  came  apon  a 


896  ELDORADO. 

largo,  arid  UanOj  flat  as  a  tabic,  and  lying  at  the  foot  of  the 
Mount  of  Capulalpan.  A  string  of  males,  carrying  stc>ne  from  the 
mountains,  stretched  across  it,  till  they  almost  vanished  in  the 
ptrspectlvo.  One  by  one  they  came  up  out  of  the  distance,  emp* 
tied  the  stones,  which  were  heaped  upon  their  backs  in  rougl 
wicker  frames,  and  turned  about  to  repeat  the  journey.  Thej 
belonged  to  the  estate  of  Seiior  Zurutuza,  proprietor  of  the  dili- 
gence lines  of  IMexico,  who  shows  as  much  prudence  and  skill  in 
the  cultivation  of  his  lands  as  in  the  arran^i^emcnt  of  his  stages 
and  hotels.  The  estate  vrhich  ho  purchased  of  the  Mexican 
GovcrRment,  at  a  cost  of  $300,000,  contains  thirty-seven  square 
b^igues,  nearly  all  of  which  is  arable  land.  The  buildings  stand 
in  a  little  valley,  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The  principal 
storehouse  is  two  hundred  feet  square,  and  solid  as  a  fortress.  An 
arched  entrance,  closed  by  massive  gates,  Jeads  to  a  paved  court- 
yard, around  which  runs  a  lofty  gallery,  with  pillars  of  oak  resting 
on  blocks  of  lava.  Under  this  shelter  were  stored  immense  piles 
of  wheat  and  chopped  straw.  On  the  outside,  a  number  of  per- 
sons were  employed  in  removing  the  grain  from  a  largo  circular 
floor  of  masonry,  where  it  had  been  trodden  out  by  mules,  and 
separating  it  from  the  chaff  by  tossing  it  diligently  in  the  wind. 
The  hotel  for  tlie  accommodation  of  travelers,  is  a  new  and  ele- 
gant structure,  and  a  decided  improvement  on  other  buildings  of 
the  kind  in  Mexico. 

We  slept  soundly  in  the  several  rooms  allotted  to  us,  and  by 
daybreak  next  morning  were  on  the  simimit  of  the  Pass  of  Capu- 
lalpan,  about  eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The  air  was 
thin  and  cold  ;  the  timber  was  principally  oak,  of  a  stunted  and 
hardy  kind,  and  tlic  general  appearance  of  the  place  is  desolate  \n 
the  extreme.     Hero,  where  tho  streams  of  the  two  oceans  aro 


APPROACHING    MEXICO.  897 

divided,  the  first  view  of  Popocatapctl,  at  more  than  a  b  indrcd 
miles  distance,  greets  the  traveler.  A  descent  of  many  milca 
tLrough  splendid  plantations,  lying  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains 
brought  us  to  the  old  town  of  Tula,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tula 
River,  which  empties  into  the  Gulf,  at  Tampico.  Here  wc  break- 
fasted, and  then  started  on  our  last  stage  towards  the  capital 
Crossing  a  low  range  of  hills,  we  reached  the  Desagua,  an  immense 
canal,  cut  for  the  draining  of  the  Valley  of  Mexico.  The  after- 
noon was  hot  and  breezelcss ;  clouds  of  dust  enveloped  and  almost 
stifled  us,  rising  as  they  rolled  away  till  they  looked  like  slendei 
pillars,  swayed  from  side  to  side  by  the  vibrations  of  the  air.  "We 
passed  the  towns  of  Guatitlan  and  Tanepantla,  where  we  onlj 
stopped  to  get  a  drink  of  iepaclie,  a  most  nourishing  and  refresh- 
ing beverage,  compounded  of  parched  com,  pineapple,  and  sugar 
The  road  was  hedged  by  immense  aloes,  some  of  which  had  leaves 
ten  feet  in  length :  they  arc  cultivated  in  great  quantities  for  the 
pulque,  which  is  manufactured  from  their  juice.  A  few  hours  ol 
this  travel,  on  the  level  floor  of  the  Valley  of  Mexico,  brought  us 
to  the  suburbs,  where  we  met  scores  of  people  in  carriages  and  on 
horseback,  going  out  to  take  their  evening  paseo  around  the  Ala- 
meda. Rattling  over  the  streets  of  the  spacious  capital,  in  a  few 
minutes  we  were  brought  to  a  stand  in  the  yard  of  the  Casa  de 
Diligencias. 

A  few  minutes  after  my  arrival,  the  Vera  Cruz  stage  drove  rato 
the  yard.  The  first  person  who  jumped  out  was  ray  friend  Mr 
Parrot,  U.  S.  Consul  at  Mazatlan.  Gov.  Letcher,  our  Envoy  to 
Mexico,  came  in  the  same  stage,  but  was  met  at  the  Pcfion  Q  rande 
by  a  number  of  Americans  in  carriages,  and  brought  into  the  city 
It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  friends  of  your  own  size.  I  made 
my  first  appearance  in  the  City  of  tho  Montezumas  covered  with 


808  ELbCjRADO. 

dust  and  clad  in  the  weather-beaten  corduroys,  which  were  all  thf 
robbers  left  me.  Thanks  to  the  kind  offer  of  Mr.  Parrot  and  Mr 
Peyton,  who  accompanied  him,  I  sat  down  to  dinner  in  half  an 
hour  afterwards,  looking  and  feeling  much  more  like  a  moiLbci 
of  civilized  sociuty 


CHAPTER  XXUX. 

SCENES   IN    THE   MEXICAN    CAPITAL. 

I  SALLIED  out,  on  the  bright  sunny  morning  after  reaching 
Mexico,  to  make  a  survey  of  the  city.  The  sky  was  cloudlas, 
except  on  the  horizon,  in  the  direction  of  Popocatapetl,  and  the 
air  was  charmingly  cool  and  fresh.  Its  rarity,  by  accelerating  the 
breathing,  had  a  stimulating  effect,  but  I  found  that  a  faster  pace 
than  ordinary  exhausted  me  in  a  few  minutes.  Most  of  the  shops 
w^ere  closed,  and  the  people  from  the  neighboring  villages  began 
to  come  in  for  the  morning  mass.  The  streets  are  broad,  tolerably 
clean,  and  have  an  air  of  solidity  and  massive  strength  beyond 
that  of  any  modem  city.  The  houses  are  all  of  stone,  with  few 
windows  on  the  streets,  but  an  arched  gateway  in  the  centre, 
leading  to  a  patio,  or  courtyard,  where  the  only  correct  view  of 
their  size  and  magnificence  may  be  obtained.  The  glimpses 
through  these  gateways,  while  passing,  are  often  very  beauti- 
ful— the  richly-sculptured  frame  of  stone  enclosing  a  sunny  pic- 
ture of  a  fountain,  a  cluster  of  orange-trees,  or  the  slender,  grace- 
ful arches  of  the  corridor.  The  buildings  are  painted  of  some 
light,  fresli  «olor,  pink  and  white  being  predominant;  some  of 
them,  indeed,  are  entirely  covered  with  arabesque  patterns  in 
fresco.     The  streets  run  at  right  angles,  with  nearly  Philadelphiac 


too  ELDORADO. 

regularity,  but  the  system  of  naming  tLcm  is  very  confusing  to  t 
stranger.  A  name  extends  no  farther  than  a  single  block,  tlio 
same  street  having  sometimes  as  many  as  twenty  different  names 
m  different  places.  Thus,  while  there  arc  several  thousand  nam(» 
of  streets  in  the  city,  (all  of  them  long  and  difficult  to  i"emcmlier) 
the  actual  number  of  streets  is  small. 

I  wandered  about  for  some  time,  looking  for  the  Grand  Plaza, 
and  at  last  fell  into  the  wake  of  the  mass-going  crowd,  as  the 
Bui'cst  way  to  find  it.  It  is  in  the  very  centre  of  the  city,  though 
the  business  quarter  lies  almost  entirely  on  the  western  side.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  imposing  squares  in  the  world,  and  still  far  in  ■ 
ferior  to  what  it  might  be  made.  It  covers  about  fourteen  acres, 
which  arc  entirely  open  and  unbroken,  except  by  a  double  row  ol 
orange-trees  in  front  of  the  Cathedral.  The  splendid  equestrian 
statue  of'  Cliarles  IV.  by  the  sculptor  Tolsa,  which  formerly 
stood  in  the  centre,  has  been  removed  since  the  war  of  Independ- 
ence, and  the  Govci'nmcnt  has  never  been  able  to  replace  it  by 
something  more  to  its  republican  taste.  The  National  Palace, 
with  a  front  of  five  hundred  feet,  occupies  nearly  the  entire  eastern 
side  of  the  plaza,  while  the  Cathedral,  with  a  church  adjoining, 
Ells  the  northern.  Around  the  other  sides  runs  a  corial^  whose 
arches  are  nearly  blocked  up  by  tlio  wares  and  gay  fabrics  there 
disposed  for  sale.  One  of  the  houses  forming  this  cortal  was  built 
'  y  Ccrtcz,  and  is  still  owned  by  his  descendants.  As  iu  our  own 
cities,  there  is  a  row  of  hacks  strung  along  one  side  of  the  plaza, 
the  drivers  of  which  assail  you  with  continual  invitations  to  ride. 

The  Cathedral  is  gi-and  and  impressive  from  its  very  size,  but 
the  effect  of  the  front  is  greatly  injured  by  its  incongruous  style  oi 
architecture.  Tlerc  seems  to  have  been  no  single  design  adopted, 
but  after  half  had  been  built,  the  arcliitect  changed  his  plan  and 


INTERIOR    OF    THE    CATHEDRAL.  401 

finisl'cd  tlio  rcraaindei-  in  a  diffcrcnc  style.  The  front,  as  high  a? 
the  Caf  hcdral  roof,  has  a  venerable  appcavar.ce  of  age  and  neglect 
while  the  two  massive,  square,  unadorned  towers  rising  from  it, 
arc  as  brilliantly  white  and  fresh  as  if  erected  yesterday.  The 
front  of  tlie  church  adjoining  is  embossed  with  very  elaborate  or- 
naracnts  of  sculpture,  all  showing  the  same  disregard  of  architec- 
tural unity.  The  interior  of  the  Cathedral  is  far  more  perfect  in 
its  structure.  The  nave,  resting  its  lofty  arch  on  pillars  of  a 
semi-Gothic  character,  with  the  gorgeous  pile  of  tlie  high-altar  at 
its  extremity,  blazing  with  gold  and  silver  and  precious  marbles, 
looks  truly  sublime  in  the  dim,  subdued  light  which  fills  it.  The 
railing  around  the  altar  is  solid  silver,  as  well  as  the  lamps  which 
burn  before  it.  In  the  shrines  along  the  side  aisles  there  arc  many 
paintings  of  fine  character,  but  everywhere  the  same  flash  of  gold 
and  appearance  of  lavish  treasure.  The  Cathedral  was  crowded 
to  the  very  door  by  a  tlirong  of  ranchcros,  Indians,  eiately  ladies 
in  silks  and  jewels,  soldiers  and  hperos,  kneeling  side  by  side. 
Tne  sound  of  the  organ,  bearing  on  its  full  flood  the  blended 
TOices  of  the  choir,  pealed  magnificently  through  the  nave.  There 
were  some  very  fine  voices  among  the  singers,  but  their  perform 
ance  was  wanting  in  the  grand  and  perfect  unison  which  distin 
guishes  the  Italian  chorus. 

In  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  great  fair  or  festival  at  Taca 
baya,  and  half  the  population  of  the  city  went  out  to  attend  it 
Tho  stages  in  front  of  the  Diligence  Hotel,  which  bore  the  in- 
scription on  then-  sides :  "  A  Tacuhaya,  por  2  reahs,'^  were 
jammed  with  passengers.  I  preferred  a  quiet  walk  in  the  Ala,- 
meda  to  a  suffocating  ride  in  the  heat  and  dust,  and  so  did  my 
friend,  Peyton.  The  Alameda  is  a  charming  place,  completelj 
shaded  by  tall  trees,  and  musical  with  ihe  plash  of  fountoina 


102  ELDORADO. 

Through  its  long  avonues  of  foliage,  the  gay  equipages  <-.f  the 
ariEtocracy  may  bo  seen  rolling  to  and  from  the  paseo — Prosidcnl 
Herrcra,  in  a  light,  open  carriage,  followed  by  a  guard  of  honor, 
among  them.  Wo  roamed  through  the  cool,  shaded  walks,  find- 
ing suiScient  amusement  in  the  curious  groups  and  characters  we 
constantly  met  until  the  afternoon  shadows  grew  long  and  the  sun 
had  nearly  touched  the  Nevada  of  Toluca.  Then,  joining  the  in- 
creasing crowd,  we  followed  the  string  of  carriages  past  a  guard- 
house where  a  company  of  trumpeters  shattered  all  the  surround- 
ing air  by  incessant  prolonged  blasts,  that  nearly  tore  up  the 
paving-stones.  A  beautiful  road,  planted  with  trees,  and  flanked 
by  convenient  stone  benches,  extended  beyond  for  about  a  mile, 
having  a  circle  at  its  further  end,  around  which  the  carriages 
passed,  and  took  their  stations  in  the  return  line.  We  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  benches  facing  the  ring,  enjoying  the  tranquilUty  of 
the  sunset  and  the  animation  of  the  scene  before  us.  The  towers 
of  Mexico  rose  behind  us,  above  the  gardens  which  belt  the  city ; 
the  rock  of  Chapultepec  was  just  visible  in  front,  and  far  to  the 
south-east,  a  snowy  glimmer,  out  of  the  midst  of  a  pile  of  clouds, 
revealed  the  cone  of  Popocatapetl.  Among  the  equipages  were 
some  of  great  magnificence :  that  of  Don  Gaetano  Rubio  was 
perhaps  the  most  costly.  Large  American  horses  are  in  greai 
demand  for  these  displays,  and  a  thousand  dollars  a  pair  is  fre- 
quently paid  for  them.  The  mixture  of  imported  vehicles — Eng- 
Lsh,  French  and  American — with  the  bomb-proof  arks  and  move- 
able fortifications  of  the  country,  was  very  amus'ng,  though  theii 
contrast  was  not  more  marked  than  that  of  the  occupants.  The 
great  ambition  of  a  Mexican  family  is  to  ride  in  a  carriage  on  al] 
public  occasions,  and  there  arc  hundreds  who  starve  thcmsdvei 


SMOKING    IN    THE    THEATRE.  403 

on  tortillas  and  deny  themselves  every  comfort  but  the  cigarito 
that  they  may  pay  the  necessary  hire. 

I  went  one  evening  to  the  Teatro  de  Santa  Anna,  which  is  on« 
of  the  finest  theatres  in  the  world.  On  this  occasion,  the  per 
formance  might  have  honorably  stood  the  ordeal  of  even  Paris 
criticism  There  was  a  ballet  by  the  Monplaisu-  troupe,  songs  by 
the  prima  donna  of  the  native  opera  and  violin  solos  by  Frani 
Coenen.  The  theatre  is  very  large,  having,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
five  tiers  of  boxes,  yet  it  was  crowded  in  every  part.  There  was 
a  great  display  of  costly  dresses  and  jewelry,  but  I  saw  much  leaa 
beauty  than  on  the  moonlit  plaza  of  Gruadalajara.  The  tendency 
of  the  Mexican  women  to  corpulency  very  soon  destroys  the  bloom 
and  graces  of  youth  ;  indeed,  their  season  of  beauty  is  even  more 
brief  than  ui  the  United  States.  Between  the  acts  the  spectators 
invariably  fell  to  smoking.  The  gentlemen  lit  their  puros,  the 
ladies  produced  their  delicate  boxes  of  cigaritos  and  their  matches, 
and  for  some  minutes  after  the  curtain  fell,  there  was  a  continual 
snapping  and  fizzing  of  brimstone  all  over  the  house.  By  the  time 
the  curtain  was  ready  to  rise,  the  air  was  sensibly  obscured,  and 
the  chandeliers  glimmered  through  a  blue  haze.  At  home,  this 
habit  of  smoking  by  the  ladies  is  rather  graceftd  and  pretty  ;  the 
fine  paper  cigar  is  handled  with  an  elegance  that  shows  off  the 
little  arts  and  courtesies  of  Spanish  character,  with  the  same  effect 
as  a  fan  or  a  bouquet ;  but  a  whole  congregation  of  women  smok 
ing  together,  I  must  admit,  did  take  away  much  of  the  reverence 
with  which  we  are  wont  to  regard  the  sex.  Because  a  lady  may 
be  a  Juno  in  beauty,  is  no  reason  why  she  should  thus  retire  intc 
a  cloud — nor  is  the  odor  of  stale  tobacco  particularly  Olympian. 

The  streets  of  Mexico  are  always  ac  interesting  study.    Evei 


404  ELDORADO. 

after  visiting  tLo  other  large  cities  of  the  Republic,  one  is  Here  in 
troduced  to  new  and  interesting  types  of  JMexican  humanity 
Faces  of  the  pure  Aztec  blood  are  still  to  be  found  in  the  squarei 
and  market-places,  and  the  canal  which  joins  Lakes  Chalco  and 
Tezcuco  is  filled  with  their  flat  canoes,  laden  with  fruits,  vegetable* 
and  flowers.  They  have  degenerated  in  everything  but  their  hos- 
tility to  the  Spanish  race,  which  is  almost  as  strong  as  in  the  da}'8 
of  Montezuma.  The  leperos  constitute  another  and  still  more  dis- 
gusting class ;  no  part  of  the  city  is  free  from  them.  They  im- 
plore you  for  alms  with  bended  knees  and  clasped  hands,  at  every 
turn  ;  they  pick  your  pockets  in  broad  daylight,  or  snatch  away 
your  cloak  if  there  is  a  good  opportunity  ;  and  if  it  be  an  object 
with  any  one  to  have  you  removed  from  this  sphere  of  being,  they 
will  murder  you  for  a  small  consideration.  The  second  night  T 
ispent  in  Mexico,  my  pocket  was  picked  in  the  act  of  passing  a 
corner  where  two  or  three  of  them  were  standing  in  a  group.  1 
discovered  the  loss  before  I  had  gone  ten  steps  further ;  but^ 
though  I  birned  immediately,  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  The 
aguadores,  or  water-carriers,  are  another  interesting  class,  as  they 
go  about  with  heavy  earthen  jars  suspended  on  their  backs  by  a 
band  about  the  forehead,  and  another)  smaller  jar  swinging  in 
front  to  balance  it,  by  a  band  over  the  top  of  the  head.  The 
priests,  in  their  black  cassocks  and  shovel  hats  with  brims  a  yaid 
'ong,  are  curious  figures  ;  the  monasteries  in  the  city  send  ( ut 
jarge  numbers  of  fat  and  sensual  friars,  whose  conduct  even  in  pub* 
tic  is  a  scandal  to  the  respectable  part  of  the  community.  In  all 
the  features  of  its  out-door  life,  Mexico  is  quite  as  motley  and 
pictui-esque  as  any  of  the  old  cities  of  Spain.  The  Republic 
seema  to  have  in  no  way  changed  the  ancient  order,  except  b^ 


A2TEC    ANTIQDITIEA.  405 

tearing  down  all  the  emblems  of  royalty  and  substituting  tibe  eagli 
and  cactus  in  their  stead. 

The  scarcity  of  all  antiquities  of  the  Aztes  race,  will  strike 
travelers  who  visit  the  city.  Not  one  stone  of  the  ancient  capital 
\aa  been  left  upon  another,  while,  by  the  gradual  recession  of  the 
fraters  of  the  lakes,  the  present  Mexico,  though  built  precisely  on 
tJ»e  site  of  the  ancient  one,  stands  on  dry  ground.  There  are  fre- 
qiently  inundations,  it  is  true,  caused  by  long-continued  rains, 
T»hich  the  mountain  slopes  to  the  north-east  and  south-west  send 
I  ito  the  valley,  but  the  construction  of  the  Desagua — an  immense 
( mal  connecting  Lake  Tezcuco  with  the  Rio  Montezuma — ^haa 
f  reatly  lessened  the  danger.  Of  all  the  temples,  palaces,  and 
I  ublic  edifices  of  the  Aztecs,  the  only  remains  are  the  celebrated 
Calendar,  built  into  one  comer  of  the  cathedral,  the  Sacrificial 
S  tone  and  a  collection  of  granite  gods  in  the  National  Museum. 
I  he  Calendar  is  an  immense  circular  stone,  probably  ten  feet  in 
diameter,  containing  the  divisions  of  the  Aztec  year,  and  the  as- 
tronomical signs  used  by  that  remarkable  people.  The  remaining 
antiquities  are  piled  up  neglectedly  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Mu- 
Bexxm,  where  the  stupid  natives  come  to  stare  at  them,  awed,  yet 
apparently  fascinated  by  their  huge,  terrible  features.  The 
Sacrificial  Stone  is  in  perfect  preservation.  It  is  like  a  great 
mill-stone  of  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  diameter,  with  a  hollow  in 
the  centre,  from  which  a  groove  slants  to  the  edge,  to  carry  away 
the  blood  of  the  victim.  Scattered  around  it  on  the  pavemen 
were  idols  of  all  grotesque  forms,  feathered  serpents  and  hidcooa 
oombinations  of  human  and  animal  figures.  The  Aztec  war-god, 
Quetzalcoatl,  was  the  hugest  and  most  striking  of  all.  He  was 
about  fourteen  feet  m  height,  with  four  fiwes,  and  as  manj 
pairs  of  arms  and  legs,  fronting  towards  the  quarters  rf  the  com- 


406  ELDORADO. 

pass ,  his  mouth  was  open  and  tongue  projecting,  and  in  the 
hollow  thus  formed,  the  heart  of  the  victim  was  thrust,  while  yet 
warm  and  palpitating.  His  grim  features  struck  me  with  awe 
and  something  like  terror,  when  I  thought  of  the  thousands  of  hu- 
man hearts  that  had  stained  his  iasatiate  tongues.  Here,  at  least, 
he  Aztecs  had  a  truer  conception  of  the  Spirit  of  War  than  our- 
selves. We  still  retain  the  Mars  of  the  poetic  Q-reeks — a  figure 
of  strength  and  energy,  and  glorious  ardor  only — ^not  the  grand 
monster  which  all  barbaric  tribes,  to  whom  war  is  a  natural  instinct, 
build  for  their  worship. 

There  are  some  relics  of  the  Spanish  race  in  this  museum, 
which  I  should  not  omit  to  mention.  In  one  dusty  corner,  be- 
hind a  little  wooden  railing,  are  exhibited  the  coats-of-mail  of 
Cortez  and  Alvarado.  The  great  Cortez,  to  judge  from  his  helmet, 
breast-plate  and  cuishes,  was  a  short,  broad-chested  and  powerful 
man — the  very  build  for  daring  and  endurance.  Alvarado  was  a 
little  taller  and  more  slight,  which  may  account  for  his  celebrated 
leap — the  measure  of  which  is  stUl  shown  on  a  wall  near  the  city, 
though  the  ditch  is  filled  up.  In  the  centre  of  the  court-yard 
stands  the  celebrated  equestrian  statue  of  Charles  IV.,  by  the 
Mexican  sculptor,  Tolsa.  It  is  of  bronze,  and  colossal  size.  In 
the  general  spirit  and  forward  action  of  the  figures,  it  is  one  ci 
the  best  equestrian  statues  in  the  world.  The  horse,  which 
was  modeled  from  an  Andalusian  stallion  of  pure  blood,  ha« 
been  censured.  It  differs,  in  fact,  very  greatly  from  the  per 
feet  Grecian  model,  especially  in  the  heavy  chest  and  i^ort 
round  fiank  ;  but  those  who  have  seen  the  Andalusian  horse 
consider  it  a  perfect  type  of  that  breed  It  is  a  work  in  which 
Mexico  may  well  glory,  for  any  country  might  be  proud  to  have 
produced  it. 


CHAPTER  XL 

MEXICAN    POLITICS    AND   POLITICAL    MKH. 

I  SPENT  one  morning  during  my  stay  in  Mexico,  in  viaiting  botL 
Houses  of  the  Mexican  Congress,  which  were  then  in  session,  in 
the  National  Palace.  I  could  not  but  regret,  on  approaching  this 
edifice,  that  so  fine  an  opportunity  for  architectural  effect  had 
been  lost  through  a  clumsy  and  incongruous  plan  of  building 
The  front  of  five  hundred  feet,  had  it  been  raised  another  story, 
and  its  flat  pink  surface  relieved  by  a  few  simple  pilasters  and  cor- 
nices, would  have  equaled  that  of  the  Pitti  Palace  or  the  Royal 
Residenz  in  Munich.  One  of  its  court-yards,  with  a  fountain  in 
the  centre  and  double  gallery  running  around  the  four  sides,  is 
nevertheless  complete  and  very  beautiful.  While  looking  out  of 
the  windows  of  the  Palace  on  the  magnificent  square,  the  foremost 
picture  in  my  mind's  eye  was  not  that  of  Cortez  and  Alvarado, 
battling  their  way  back  to  Tlaacala,  after  the  "  Noche  Triste  ;" 
not  that  of  the  splendid  trains  of  the  Viceroys  of  yet  powerful 
Spain  ;  but  the  triumphal  entry  of  Scott,  when  the  little  army  thai 
had  fought  its  way  in  from  Chapultepec,  greeted  his  appearanc  e 
on  the  Plaza  with  huzzas  that  brought  tears  even  into  Mexican 
ayes.  Think  as  one  may  of  the  character  of  the  war,  there  are 
wenes  in  it  which  stir  the  blood  and  brighten  the  eye. 


ELDORADO. 

Mr.  Belden,  an  American  many  years  resident  in  Menoo,  ao> 
sompanied  me  to  the  Halls  of  Congress,  and  pointed  out  the  prin- 
cipal characters  present.  We  first  visited  the  Senate  Chamber — 
a  small  elliptical  room  ia  the  centre  of  the  Palace.  There  were 
no  desks  except  for  the  Secretaries,  the  members  being  seated  on 
•  continuous  bench,  which  ran  around  the  room,  with  a  rail  in  front 
of  it.  Probably  two-thirds  of  the  Senators — ^fifteen  or  twenty  in 
all — were  present.  The  best  head  among  them  is  that  of  Otero, 
who,  I  think,  was  one  of  the  Cabinet  during  the  war.  He  is  a 
large,  strongly-built  man,  with  features  expressing  not  only  intel- 
ligence, but  power.  At  the  end  of  the  room  sat  Don  Luis  Cuevas, 
one  of  the  Commissioners  who  signed  the  Treaty  of  Guadalupe 
Hidalgo — a  man  of  polished  bearing,  and,  from  appearance,  some- 
thing of  a  diplomat.  Gen.  Almonte,  whose  low  forehead,  broad 
cheek-bones  and  dark  skin  betray  his  Indian  blood,  occupied  the 
seat  next  to  Pedraza,  the  President  of  a  few  days  during  a  revo- 
lution in  1828.  Almonte  is  the  son  of  the  Liberator  Morelos, 
and  that  circumstance  alone  gave  him  an  interest  in  my  eyes. 

The  demeanor  of  the  Senate  is  exceedingly  quiet  and  grave. 
The  speeches  are  short,  though  not,  in  consequence,  always  to  the 
point.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  told  that  any  definite  action  on  any 
subject  is  as  difficult  to  be  had  as  in  our  own  Congress.  It  ia 
better,  however,  to  do  nothing  decorously,  than  after  a  riotons 
fashion. 

The  Hall  of  Congress  fronts  on  one  of  the  inner  courts  of  the 
Palace.  It  is  semi-circular  in  form,  and  lighted  by  windows  oi 
blue  glass,  near  the  top.  As  in  the  Senate,  the  members  have  no 
desks,  but  are  ranged  along  two  semi-circular  benches,  the  outer  one 
raised  a  step  from  the  fioor.  The  Speaker  sits  on  a  broad  plat- . 
form,  in  front  of  the  centre  of  the  chord,  with  two  Secretaries  oo 


THE    HALL    OF    CONGRESS.  409 

each  hand.  At  each  comer  of  the  platform  is  a  circular  pulpit 
just  large  enough  to  take  in  a  spare  man  nearly  to  the  armpits 
They  are  used  by  the  members  for  set  harangues.  Behind  the 
Speaker's  chair,  and  elevated  above  it,  is  a  sort  of  throne  with 
two  seats,  under  a  crimson  canopy.  Here,  the  President  of  the 
Republic  and  the  Speaker  of  Congress  take  their  seats,  at  iht* 
apening  and  close  of  each  Session.  Above  the  canopy,  in  a  gilded 
frame,  on  a  ground  of  the  Mexican  tricolor,  hangs  the  sword  ol 
Iturbide.  A  picture  of  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  with  her  blue 
mantle  and  silver  stars,  completes  the  decorations.  Around  the 
architrave  of  the  piUars  which  form  the  semi-circle  and  across  the 
cornice  of  the  chord,  are  inscribed,  in  letters  of  gold,  the  names 
of  the  Mexican  Chiefs  of  the  War  of  Independence — conspicuous 
among  them  those  of  Morelos,  Bravo,  Victoria  and  Mina. 

The  Mexican  Congress  elects  its  Speaker  monthly.  The  in- 
cumbent at  the  time,  Portillo,  was  a  young  man,  who  presided 
with  admirable  dignity  and  decorum.  As  in  the  Senate,  the 
members  exhibit  a  grave  and  courteous  demeanor  ;  the  etiquette 
of  dignified  legislation,  I  presume,  is  never  violated.  The  only 
notable  Representative  present  was  Arrangoiz,  whose  name  is  well 
known  in  the  United  States.  I  was  disappointed  in  not  seeing 
Alaman,  the  head  of  the  Monarchist  faction.  Editor  of  the  Uni- 
versal^ and  author  of  an  jxcellent  History  of  Mexico,  then  in  the 
course  of  publication.  Two  or  three  short  speeches  were  made 
during  my  visit,  but  I  was  not  sufficiently  versed  either  in  the  lan- 
guage or  politics,  to  get  more  than  the  general  drift  of  them 
Congress  appeared  to  be  doing  nothing  satisfactory  ;  the  thinking 
population  (a  very  small  number)  were  discontented,  and  with 
reason.  A  short  time  previous,  the  Eeport  of  the  Committee  ol 
Finance  came  up  for  discussion.  After  engaging  the  House  foi 
18 


410  ELDORADO. 

several  days,  during  which  many  warm  speeoheH  were  made  an 
both  sides,  all  seemed  ready  for  a  decision  ;  when,  lo  !  the  mem- 
bers suddenly  determined  that  they  had  no  right  to  voit  upon  it 

One  o'clock  the  same  afternoon  was  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
presentation  of  Mr.  Letcher,  the  new  Envoy  from  the  United 
States.  On  coming  out  of  the  Senate  Chamber  we  noticed  that 
the  corridor  leading  to  the  rooms  of  the  President  was  deserted  by 
the  groups  of  officers  in  fuU  uniform  who  had  been  lounging  about 
the  door.  Entering  the  ante-chamber,  we  found  that  Mr.  Letchei 
with  Mr.  Walsh,  Secretary  of  Legation,  had  just  passed  into  the 
Hall  of  Audience.  Mr.  Belden  was  well  known  to  all  the  officers 
of  Government,  and  his  company  procured  us  admission  at  once. 
We  took  our  places  among  the  Secretaries  of  the  diflFerent  De- 
partments, about  half  way  up  the  Hall.  Gen.  Herrera,  the  Presi- 
dent, was  seated  on  a  platform  at  the  end  of  the  room,  under  a 
crimson  canopy,  having  on  his  right  hand  Lacunza,  Minister  of 
Foreign  Afiairs,  and  on  his  left  Castafieda,  Minister  of  Justice 
The  other  Ministers,  with  a  number  of  officers  of  the  General 
Staff,  were  ranged  at  the  foot  of  the  platform.  Mr.  Letcher  had 
just  commenced  his  address  as  we  entered.  He  appeared  slightly 
embarrassed  during  the  first  phrases,  but  soon  recovered  the  proper 
composure.  I  had  no  doubt,  however,  that  he  would  have  felt 
much  more  at  home  in  making  a  stump  speech  in  his  native  Ken- 
tucky, His  address  consisted  mainly  of  expressions  of  good  will 
on  the  part  of  the  United  States,  and  a  desire  for  more  intimat« 
and  amicable  relations  between  the  two  Governments.  Gen.  Her- 
rera on  receiving  the  letters  accrediting  Mr.  Letchei  replied  in  a 
neat  speech,  cordially  responding  to  the  expressions  of  dmity  which 
had  been  made,  and  invoking  for  both  nations  the  same  harmony 


HERRERA    AND    HIS    GOVERNMENT.  411 

in  their  mutual  relations  as  they  already  possesged  m  their  oonsti' 
National  forms. 

After  the  interchange  of  a  few  compliments,  Mr.  Letcher  took 
his  leave,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  President  rose  and  left 
the  hall,  in  company  with  his  Ministers.  He  bowed  to  us  in  pass- 
ing, probably  recognizing  us  as  Americans.  He  is  a  man  of  about 
sixty,  of  short  stature,  and  with  a  countenance  whose  prominent 
expression  is  honesty  and  benevolence.  This  corresponds  with 
the  popular  idea  of  his  character.  He  is  a  man  of  excellent 
heart,  but  lacks  energy  and  determination.  His  Government, 
though  quiet  and  peaceful  enough  at  present,  is  not  sufficientlj 
strong  for  Mexico.  So  long  as  the  several  States  continue  to  defy 
and  violate  the  Federal  Compact,  a  powerful  Head  is  needed  to 
the  Greneral  Government.  The  rule  of  Herrera  met  with  no  open 
opposition  At  the  time  of  my  visit,  the  country  was  perfectly 
quiet.  The  insurrection  in  the  Sierra  Madre  had  been  entirely 
quelled,  and  the  ravages  of  the  Indians  in  Durango  and  Chihuahua 
appeared  to  have  subsided  for  a  time.  Nevertheless,  the  Conser- 
vative party,  whose  tendency  is  towards  a  monarchy,  was  said  to 
be  on  the  increase — a  fact  no  doubt  attributable  to  the  influence 
and  abilities  of  Alaman,  its  avowed  leader.  The  name  of  Santa 
Anna  had  been  brought  forward  by  his  friends,  as  a  candidate  for 
Congress  from  tbe  district  of  the  Capital,  though  his  success  was 
scarcely  a  matter  of  hope. 

Ths  Government  was  still  deeply  embarrasseJ  by  its  forced 
loans,  and  Congress  took  the  very  worst  means  to  settle  its  difli- 
culty  A  committee,  appointed  to  report  some  plan  of  settlement, 
made  the  following  propositions,  which  I  here  give,  as  a  curiosity 
m  legislation : — 1.  That  the  Government  be  authorized  to  make 
an  amicable  arrangement  with  its  creditors,  within  the  space  o. 


412 


ELDORADO. 


forty  days.  (!)  2.  That  such  arrangement  cannot  take  cffbcl 
without  the  approbation  of  Congress;  (!!)  and  3.  That  tje  Go- 
vernment be  authorized  to  accept  a  further  sum  of  $300,000  on 
the  American  indemnity.  The  resignation  of  Sefior  Elorriaga 
tlie  Minister  of  Finance,  was  fully  expected,  and  took  place,  in 
fiict,  about  three  weeks  after  I  left  Very  few  Ministers  hold  thif 
oflBce  more  than  two  or  three  months.  The  entire  want  of  confi- 
dence between  the  Executive  and  Legislative  Departments  utterly 
destroys  the  eflSciency  of  the  Mexican  Government.  The  Minis- 
ters wear  a  chain,  which  is  sometimes  so  shortened  by  the  caprice 
of  Congress,  that  the  proper  exercise  of  their  functions  is  rendered 
impossible. 

Several  of  the  States  had  a  short  time  previous  been  taking 
singular  liberties  with  the  Constitution.  For  instance,  the  Legis- 
latures of  Zacatecas,  Durango  and  Jalisco,  had  separately  passed 
laws  regulating  the  revenue  not  only  on  internal  commerce,  but 
foreign  imports  !  The  duties  on  many  articles  were  enormous, 
as,  for  instance,  in  the  State  of  .Talisco,  37  1-2  cents  per  lb.  on 
tobacco,  and  75  cents  on  snuff.  Zacatecas,  with  a  curious  dis- 
crimination, imposed  a  duty  of  12  1-2  per  cent,  on  home  manu- 
fectures,  and  5  per  cent,  on  foreign  merchandise  !  In  such  a 
state  of  things  one  knows  not  which  most  to  wonder  at,  the 
audacity  of  the  States,  or  the  patient  sufferance  of  the  Supreme 
Government. 

I  scanned  with  some  curiosity  the  faces  and  forms  of  the  chief 
officers  of  the  Republic  as  they  passed. 

Herrera  wore  the  uniform  of  a  general — a  more  simple  costume 
than  that  of  the  other  oflScers  present,  whose  coats  were  orna- 
mented with  red  facings  and  a  profusion  of  gold  embroidery.  The 
Ministers,  except  Arista,  were   dressed  in  plain  nits  .if  blank. 


THE   MINISTERS EDITORS.  418 

Lactmza  is  a  man  of  low  stature  and  dark  complexion,  and  a 
barely  perceptible  cast  of  slirewdness  is  mingled  with  the  natural 
intelligence  of  his  features.  Castaiieda,  on  the  other  hand,  i' 
tall,  thin,  with  a  face  of  which  you  are  certain,  at  the  first  glance 
that  it  knows  how  to  keep  its  owner's  secrets.  The  finest-looking 
jian  present  was  Gen.  Arista,  who  is  six  feet  high,  and  stout  in 
proportion,  with  a  large  head,  light  hair  closely  cropped,  fair  com- 
plexion and  gray  eyes.  From  the  cast  of  his  features,  one  would 
take  him  to  be  a  great  overgrown  Scotch  boy,  who  had  somehow 
blundered  into  a  generalship.  He  is  said  to  have  the  most  in- 
fluential hand  in  the  Cabinet.  Among  the  States  of  the  North 
there  is,  as  is  well  known,  a  powerful  party  devoted  to  his  in- 
terests. 

While  in  Mexico,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  with  Don 
Vicente  Garcia  Torres,  the  talented  editor  of  the  Monitor  Re- 
piMicano,  as  well  as  with  several  of  the  writers  for  El  Siglo  Diez 
y  JSueve.  To  M.  Rene  Masson,  the  enterprising  editor  and  pro- 
prietor of  Le  Trait  D^Umon^  (the  only  foreign  journal  in 
Mexico,)  I  was  also  indebted  for  many  courteous  attentions. 
His  paper  is  conducted  with  more  industrj  and  gives  a  more  in- 
*«lligible  view  of  Mexican  afiairs  than  any  of  the  native  prints. 
The  Count  de  la  Cortina,  the  most  accomplished  writer  in 
Mexico,  and  author  of  several  works,  was  pointed  out  to  me  in  the 
street  one  day  He  possesses  a  princely  fortune  and  the  fines! 
picture-gallery  in  America. 


CHAPTER  ILL 

miDES   TO    CHAPULTEPEC    AND    GUADALUPE. 

No  American,  whatever  be  his  moral  creed  or  political 
lentimeiits,  should  pass  through  Mexico  without  a  visit  to  the 
battle-fields  in  the  Valley,  where  his  country's  arms  obtained 
•uch  signal  triumphs.  To  me  they  had  a  more  direct,  thrilling  in- 
terest than  the  remains  of  Aztec  Empire  or  the  Spanish  Vice- 
royalty.  I  was  fortunate  in  seeing  them  with  a  companion,  to 
whom  every  rood  of  ground  was  famUiar,  and  who  could  trace  all 
the  operations  of  Scott's  army,  fi-om  San  Augustin  to  the  Grand 
Plaza  in  the  city.  We  started  for  Ohapultepec  one  fine  afternoon, 
with  Mr.  Belden,  taking  his  carriage  and  span  of  black  mides.  Wt 
drove  first  to  the  Grarita  de  Belen,  where  one  of  the  aqueducts 
enters  the  city.  Here  a  strong  barricade  was  carried  after  the 
taking  of  Ohapultepec  by  Pillow's  division,  while  Worth,  follow- 
ing down  the  line  of  the  other  aqueduct,  got  possession  of  the 
Gkrita  de  San  Cosme.  The  brick  arches  are  chipped  with  shot 
for  the  whole  distance  of  three  miles.  The  American  troops  ad- 
vanced by  springing  from  arch  to  arch,  being  exposed,  as  thej 
approached  the  Garita,  to  a  cross-fire  from  two  batteries.  The 
miming  battle  of  the  Aqueducts,  from  Ohapultepec  to  Mexico, 
a  distance  of  three  miles,  was  a  brilliant  achievement,  and  had 


Montezuma's  gardkm.  415 

Bot  our  forces  been  so  flushed  and  excited  with  the  storming  of 
the  height,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Mexicans  proportionately  lessened, 
the  slaughter  must  have  been  terrible. 

We  followed  the  aqueduct,  looking  through  its  arches  on  the 
fw  m  wheat-fields  of  the  Valley,  the  shining  villages  in  the  dis- 
lau  »e  and  sometimes  the  volcanoes,  as  the  clouds  grew  thinner 
thint  their  white  summits.  At  last,  we  reached  the  gate 
of  Chapultepec.  Mr.  Belden  was  known  to  the  officer  on  guard, 
•nd  we  passed  unchallenged  into  the  shade  of  Montezuma's  cy- 
presses. Chapultepec  is  a  volcanic  hill,  probably  two  hundred 
feet  in  height,  standing  isolated  on  the  level  floor  of  the  valley. 
Around  its  base  is  the  grove  of  cypress  trees,  known  as  Montezu- 
ma's Garden — ^great,  gnarled  trunks,  which  have  been  formed  by 
the  annual  rings  of  a  thousand  years,  bearlog  aloft  a  burden  oi 
heavy  and  wide-extending  boughs,  with  venerable  beards  of  gray 
moss.  The  changeless  black-green  of  the  foliage,  the  dull,  wintry 
hue  of  the  moss,  and  the  gloomy  shadows  which  always  invest  this 
grove,  spoke  to  me  more  solemnly  of  the  Past— of  ancient  empire, 
now  overthrown,  ancient  splendor,  now  fallen  into  dust,  and  an- 
cient creeds  now  forgotten  and  contemned, — than  the  shattered 
pillars  of  the  Roman  Forum  or  the  violated  tombs  of  Etruria.  I 
saw  them  on  a  shaded,  windless  day,  with  faint  glimmerings  of 
mnshine  between  the  black  and  heavy  masses  of  cloud.  The  air 
was  so  still  that  not  a  filament  of  the  long  mossy  streamers  trem- 
bled ;  the  trees  stood  like  giant  images  of  bronze  aroimd  the  rocky 
loot  of  the  bill.  The  father  of  the  band,  who,  like  a  hoary-headod 
•eneschal,  is  stationed  at  the  base  of  the  ascending  carriage-way, 
measures  forty-five  feet  in  circumference,  and  there  are  m  the 
pove  sereral  others  of  dimensions  but  little  inferior.     The  first 


416  ELDORADU. 

onset  of  our  ti'oops,  in  storming  Chapultepco,  was  made  ondei 
cover  of  these  trees. 

Leaving  our  carriage  and  mules  in  charge  of  the  old  cypress,  we 
climbed  the  hill  on  foot.  The  zigzag  road  still  retains  its  embank 
ment  of  adobes  and  the  small  corner-batteries  thrown  up  in  anti- 
cipation of  the  attack  ;  the  marks  of  the  cannon-balls  from  Tacu- 
baya  and  the  high  ground  behind  Molino  del  Rey,  are  everywher 
visible.  The  fortress  on  the  summit  of  Chapultepec  has  been  for 
many  years  used  as  a  National  Military  Academy.  We  found  a 
company  of  the  cadets  playing  ball  on  a  graveled  terrace  in  front 
of  the  entrance.  One  of  them  escorted  us  to  the  private  apart- 
ments of  the  commanding  oflSicer,  which  are  built  along  the  edge 
of  a  crag,  on  the  side  towards  Mexico.  Mr.  Belden  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  officer,  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  absent.  His 
wife,  however,  received  us  with  great  courtesy  and  sent  for  one  ol 
the  Lieutenants  attached  to  the  Academy.  A  splendid  Munich 
telescope  was  brought  from  the  observatory,  and  we  adjourned  to 
the  balcony  for  a  view  of  the  Valley  of  Mexico. 

I  wish  there  was  a  perspective  in  words — something  beyond  the 
mere  suggestivencss  of  sound — some  truer  representative  of  color, 
and  li^ht,  and  grand  aerial  distance  ;  for  I  scarcely  know  how  else 
to  paint  the  world-wide  panorama  spread  around  me.  Chapultepec, 
as  I  have  said  before,  stands  isolated  in  the  centre  of  the  Valley. 
The  mountains  of  Toluca  approach  to  within  fifteen  miles  beyond 
Ta/^abaya,  and  the  island-like  hills  of  Guadalupe  are  not  very  dis- 
tant, on  the  opposite  side ;  but  in  nearly  every  other  direction 
the  valley  fades  away  for  fifty  or  sixty  miles  before  striking  the 
foot  of  the  mountains.  The  forms  of  tho  chains  which  wall  in 
this  little  world  arc  made  irregular  and  wonderfully  picturesque 
by  tho  embaying  curves  of  the  Valley— now  receding  far  and  fain^ 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  VALLEY.  417 

now  piled  nearer  in  rugged  and  barren  grandeur,  now  tipped  witli 
a  spot  of  snow,  like  the  Volcano  of  Toluca,  or  shooting  far  into 
the  sky  a  dazzling  cone,  like  cloud-girdled  Popocatapel.  Bui 
the  matchless  Valley — how  shall  I  describe  that  ?  How  reflect  or 
this  poor  page  its  boundless  painting  of  fields  and  gardens,  its  pil 
very  plantations  of  aloes,  its  fertilizing  canals,  its  shimmering 
lakes,  embowered  villages  and  convents,  and  the  many-towered  ca- 
pital in  the  centre — the  boss  of  its  great  enameled  shield  ?  Before  ue 
the  aqueducts  ran  on  their  thousand  arches  towards  the  city,  the 
water  sparkling  in  their  open  tops  ;  the  towers  of  the  cathedral, 
touched  with  a  break  of  sunshine,  shone  white  as  silver  against  the 
cloud-shadowed  mountains  ;  Tacubaya  lay  behind,  with  its  palaces 
and  gardens  ;  farther  to  the  north  Tacuba,  with  the  lone  cypress 
of  the  "  Noche  Triste,"  and  eastward,  on  the  point  of  a  mountain- 
cape  shooting  out  towards  Lake  TejBCuco,  we  saw  the  shrine  of 
Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe.  Around-  the  foot  of  our  rocky  watch- 
tower,  we  looked  down  on  the  heads  of  the  cypresses,  out  of  whose 
dark  masses  it  seemed  to  rise,  sundered  by  that  weird  ring  from 
the  warmth  and  light  and  beauty  of  the  far-reaching  valley-Aforld. 
We  overlooked  all  the  battle-grounds  of  the  Valley,  but  I  fell 
a  hesitancy  at  first  in  asking  the  Lieutenant  to  point  out  the  lo- 
calities. Mr.  Belden  at  length  asked  whether  we  could  see  the 
height  of  Padierna,  or  the  fedregcd  (field  of  lava)  which  lies  to 
the  left  of  it.  The  officer  immediately  understood  our  wish,  and 
turning  the  glass  first  upon  the  Pefion  Grande,  (an  isolated  hilj 
&ear  Ayotla,)  traced  the  march  of  Gen.  Scott's  army  around  Lake 
Chalco  to  the  town  of  San  Augustin,  near  which  the  first  hostilitiei 
commenced.  We  could  see  but  a  portion  of  the  field  of  Padierna, 
more  familiarly  known  as  Contreras.  It  lies  on  the  lower  slopes 
of  thfl  Nevada  of  Toluca,  and  overlooking  the  scenes  of  the  wahod- 


418  ELDORADO. 

quent  actions  The  country  is  rough  and  broken,  and  the  cross 
ing  of  the  famed  pedregal,  from  the  far  glimpse  I  had  of  th« 
ground,  must  have  been  a  work  of  great  labor  and  peril.  Nearly 
east  of  this,  on  the  dead  level  of  the  valley,  is  the  memorable  field 
of  Churubusco.  The  tite  de  font,  where  the  brunt  of  the  battle 
took  place,  was  distinctly  visible,  and  I  could  count  every  tree  in 
the  gardens  of  the  convent.  The  panic  of  the  Mexicans  on  the 
evening  after  the  fight  at  Churubusco  was  described  to  me  as  hav- 
ing been  without  bounds.  Foreigners  residing  in  the  capital  say 
it  might  then  have  been  taken  with  scarce  a  blow. 

Beyond  Tacubaya,  we  saw  the  houses  of  Miscoao,  where  the 
trmy  was  stationed  for  some  time  before  it  advanced  to  the  former 
place.  Gen.  Scott's  head-quarters  was  in  the  Bishop's  Palace  at 
Tacubaya,  which  is  distinctly  seen  from  Chapultepec  and  within 
actual  reach  of  its  guns.  On  an  upland  slope  north  of  the  village 
and  towards  Tacuba  the  shattered  walls  of  the  Casa  Mata  were 
pointed  out.  Near  at  hand — almost  at  the  very  base  of  the 
hill — rose  the  white  gable  of  Molino  del  Rey.  The  march  of  the 
attacking  lines  could  be  as  distinctly  traced  as  on  a  map.  How 
Chapultepec,  which  commands  every  step  of  the  way,  could  be 
otormcd  and  carried  with  such  a  small  force,  seems  almost  mira- 
culous. Persons  who  witnessed  the  afiair  from  Tacubaya  told  me 
that  the  yells  of  the  American  troops  as  they  ascended  the  hill  in 
ho  face  of  a  deadly  hail  of  grape-shot,  were  absolutely  terrific 
when  they  reached  the  top  the  Mexicans  seemed  to  lose  all  thought 
of  further  defence,  pouring  in  bewildered  masses  out  of  the  doors 
and  windows  nearest  the  city,  and  tumbling  like  a  torrent  of  water 
down  the  steep  rocks.  The  Lieutenant,  who  was  in  Chapultepec 
at  the  time,  said  that  one  thousand  and  fifty  bombs  fell  on  the 
fortress  before  the  assault ;  tl  c  main  tower,  the  battlements  uid 


MEXICAN    FEELING    T0WAB08    THE    UNITED    8TATK8         419 

Bteirways  are  still  broken  and  shattered  from  their  effects.  "  Here," 
said  he,  as  we  walked  along  the  summit  terrace,  "  fifty  of  onrs  lie 
btiried  ;  and  down  yonder" — pointing  to  the  foot  of  the  hill — "  m 
many  that  they  were  never  counted."  I  was  deeply  moTed  by  hit 
calm,  sad  manner,  as  he  talked  thus  of  the  defeat  and  slaughter  o. 
his  ooiintrymen.  I  felt  like  a  participant  in  the  injury,  and  al- 
most wished  that  he  had  spoken  of  us  with  hate  and  reproach. 

I  do  not  believe,  however,  that  Mexican  enmity  to  the  United 
States  has  been  increased  by  the  war,  but  rathei  the  contrary. 
During  all  my  stay  in  the  country  I  never  heard  a  bitter  word  said 
against  us.  The  officers  of  our  army  seem  to  have  made  friends 
everywhere,  and  the  war,  by  throwing  the  natives  into  direct  con- 
tact with  foreigners,  has  greatly  abated  their  former  prejudice 
against  all  not  of  Spanish  blood.  The  departure  of  our  troops  was 
a  cause  of  general  lamentation  among  the  tradesmen  of  Mexico 
4nd  Vera  Cruz.  Nothing  was  more  common  to  me  than  to  hear 
Generals  Scott  and  Taylor  mentioned  by  the  Mexicans  in  tenna 
)f  entire  respect  and  admiration.  "  If  you  should  see  General 
Taylor,"  said  a  very  intelligent  gentleman  to  me,  "  tell  him  that 
the  Mexicans  all  honor  him.  He  has  never  given  up  their  houses 
»  plunder  ;  he  has  helped  their  wounded  and  suffering  ;  he  is  as 
humane  as  he  is  bravt,  and  they  can  never  feel  enmity  towards 
him  "  It  may  be  that  this  generous  forgetfulness  of  injury  argues 
a  want  of  earnest  patriotism,  but  it  was  therefore  none  the  less 
j^ratefiil  to  me  as  an  American. 

"We  took  leave  of  our  kind  guide  and  descended  the  hill.  It 
was  now  after  sunset ;  we  drove  rapidly  through  the  darkening 
cypresses  and  across  a  little  meadow  to  the  wall  of  Molino  del 
Rey.  A  guard  admitted  us  into  the  courtyard,  on  one  side  of  which 
'Domed  the  tall  structure  of  the  mill  •  the  other  sides  were  flanked 


120  BLDORADO. 

with  low  buildings,  flat-roofed,  with  heavy  parapets  of  stone  along 
the  outside.  Crossing  the  yard,  we  passed  through  another  gate  to 
the  open  ground  where  the  attack  was  made.  This  battle,  as  ia 
aow  gen >i/ally  known,  was  a  terrible  mistake,  costing  the  Americans 
eight  hundred  lives  without  any  return  for  the  sacrifice.  The  loii 
parapets  of  the  courtyard  concealed  a  battery  of  cannon,  and  as 
our  troops  came  down  the  bare,  exposed  face  of  the  hill,  rank  after 
rank  was  mowed  away  by  their  deadly  discharge.  The  mill  was 
taken,  it  is  true,  but,  being  perfectly  commanded  by  the  guns  of 
Chapultepec,  it  was  an  untenable  position. 

It  was  by  this  time  so  dark  that  we  returned  to  the  city  by  the 
route  we  came,  instead  of  taking  the  other  aqueduct  and  follow- 
ing the  line  of  Gen.  Worth's  advance  to  the  Grarita  of  San  Cosme 
Landing  at  Mr.  Belden's  residence,  the  Hotel  de  Bazar,  we  went 
into  the  Cafe  adjoining,  sat  down  by  a  marble  table  under  the 
ever-blooming  trees  of  the  court-yard,  and  enjoyed  a  chirimoya  ice 
— ^how  delicious,  may  readily  be  imagined  when  I  state  that  this 
fruit  in  its  native  state  resembles  nothing  so  much  as  a  rich  va- 
nilla cream.  The  Cafe  de  Bazar  is  kept  by  M.  Arago,  a  brother 
of  the  French  astronomer  and  statesman,  and  strikingly  like  him 
hi  features.  At  night,  the  light  Moorish  corridors  aroxmd  his 
fountained  court-yard  are  lighted  with  gay-colored  lamps,  and 
knots  of  writers,  politicians  or  stray  tourists  are  gathered  there 
ontil  ten  o'clock,  when  Mexican  law  obliges  the  place  to  be 
elosed. 

Mr.  Peyton  and  myself  procured  a  pair  of  spirited  mostangb 
tnd  one  morning  rode  out  to  the  village  of  Guadalupe,  three 
miles  on  the  road  t€  Tampico.  It  was  a  bright,  hot  day,  and 
Lztaccihuatl  flaunted  its  naked  snows  in  the  sun.  The  road  was 
crowded  with  arrieros  and  ranch  eros,  on  their  way  to  and  from  th 


GUAI ALUPE  421 

oity — suspicions  characters,  some  of  them,  Int  we  had  left  otu 
purees  at  home  and  taken  our  pistols  along.  The  shrine  of  the 
Virgin  was  closed  at  the  timo  but  we  saw  the  little  chapel  in 
which  it  was  deposited  and  the  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock, 
wnich  all  devout  Christians  are  expected  to  ascend  on  their  knees 
The  principal  church  in  the  place  is  a  large,  imposing  structu  ', 
but  there  is  a  smaller  building  entirely  of  blue  and  white  glazed 
tiles,  the  eflEect  of  which  is  remarkably  neat  and  unique.  Half 
way  up  the  hill,  some  rich  Mexican  who  was  saved  from  ship- 
wreck by  calling  upon  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  has  erected  a 
votive  offering  in  the  shape  of  an  immense  mast  and  three  sails, 
looking,  at  a  distance,  like  part  of  an  actual  ship. 

After  a  week  in  Mexico,  I  prepared  to  leave  for  Vera  Cmi,  to 
meet  the  British  steamer  of  the  16th  of  February.  The  seats  ir, 
the  diligence  had  all  been  engaged  for  ten  days  previous,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  take  a  place  in  the  pescante,  or  driver's  box,  for 
which  I  paid  $34.  Again  I  rolled  my  sarape  around  my  scanty 
luggage  and  donneu  the  well-worn  corduroy  coat.  I  took  leave  of 
my  kind  friend  Mr.  Parrot,  and  lay  down  to  pass  my  last  night  in 
the  city  of  the  Montezumas. 


-V, 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

THK    BASE    OF   POPOCATAPXTL. 

When  we  were  called  up  by  ihe  mozo,  at  four  o'clock,  the  ui 
was  dark,  damp  and  chilly:  not  a  star  was  to  be  seen.  The 
travelers  who  gathered  to  take  their  chocolate  in  the  dining-hall 
wore  heavy  cloaks  or  sarapes  thrown  over  the  shoulder  and  cov- 
ering the  mouth.  Among  them  was  my  companion  from  Guana- 
juato, Don  Antonio  de  Campos.  I  climbed  to  my  seat  in  the 
pescante^  above  the  driver  and  groom,  and  waited  the  order  to 
-iitart.  At  last  the  inside  was  packed,  the  luggage  lashed  on 
behind,  and  the  harness  examined  by  lanterns,  to  see  that  it  was 
properly  adjusted.  "  Vamos ."''  cried  the  driver ;  the  rope  was 
jerked  from  the  leaders,  and  away  we  thundered  down  the  silent 
streets,  my  head  barely  clearing  the  swinging  lamps,  stretched  from 
corner  to  comer.  We  passed  through  the  great  plaza,  now  dim 
nd  deserted:  the  towers  of  the  Cathedral  were  lost  in  mist. 
Crossing  the  canal,  we  drove  through  dark  alleys  to  the  barrier  m 
die  city,  where  an  escort  of  lancers,  in  waiting  among  the  gloomy 
court-yards,  quietly  took  their  places  on  either  side  of  us. 

A  chill  fog  hung  over  all  the  valley.  The  air  was  benumbing, 
and  I  found  two  coats  insufficient  to  preserve  warmth.  There  are 
DO  gardens  and  fields  of  maguey  on  this  side  of  the  city,  as  on  thai 


ANOTHER    VIEW   OF   THE   VALLET  42| 

«f  Tacubaya  Here  and  there,  a  plantation  of  maize  internipts  th? 
uniformity  of  the  barren  plains  of  grass.  In  many  places,  the 
marshy  soil  bordering  on  Lake  Tezcuco,  is  traversed  by  deep 
ditches,  which  render  it  partially  fit  for  cultivation.  Leaving  the 
shores  of  Tezcuco,  we  tamed  southward,  changed  horses  at  the 
little  Pefion,  (an  isolated  hill,  between  Lakes  Chalco  and  Xoch> 
milco)  and  drove  on  to  Ayotla.  This  is  the  point  where  the 
American  army  under  Gen.  Scott  left  the  main  road  to  Mexico, 
turning  around  the  Peiion  Grande,  south  of  the  town,  and  taking 
the  opposite  shore  of  Lake  Chalco.  It  is  a  small,  insignificant 
village,  but  prettily  situated  beside  the  lake  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
towering  Peiion ;  a  little  further,  a  road  branches  off  to  Ameca 
and  the  foot  of  Popocatapetl,  Here  we  left  the  valley,  and  began 
ascending  the  barren  slopes  of  the  mountain.  Clumps  of  unsightly 
cactus  studded  the  rocky  soil,  which  was  cut  into  rough  arroyoa 
by  the  annual  rains. 

Slowly  toiling  up  the  ascent,  we  changed  horses  at  a  large  haci- 
enda, built  on  one  of  the  steps  of  the  mountains,  whence,  looking 
backward,  the  view  of  the  valley  was  charming.  The  Pefion 
stood  in  fiont ;  southward,  towards  Ameca  and  Tenango, 
atretched  a  great  plain,  belted  with  green  wheat-fields  and  dotted 
with  the  white  towers  of  villages.  The  waters  of  Chalco  were  at 
our  feet,  and  northward,  through  a  gap  in  the  hills,  the  broad 
shset  of  Lake  Tezcuco  flashed  in  the  sun.  But  it  was  not  till 
we  had  climbed  high  among  the  pine  forests  and  looked  out  from 
onder  the  eaves  of  the  clouds,  that  I  fuUy  realized  the  grandeur  ol 
this  celebrated  view.  The  vision  seemed  to  embrace  a  world  at 
one  glance.  The  Valley  of  Mexico,  nearly  one  hundred  miles  in 
extent,  lay  below,  its  mountain-walls  buried  in  the  clouds  whick 
sung  like  a  curtain  above  the  immense  pictare.     But  through  a 


424  ELnORADO 

rift  in  this  canopy,  a  broad  sheet  of  sunshine  slowly  wandered  over 
the  valley,  now  glimmering  on  the  lakes  and  brightening  the 
green  of  the  fields  and  gardens,  and  now  lighting  up,  with  wonder- 
ful effect,  the  yellow  sides  of  the  ranges  of  hills.  Had  the  morn- 
ing been  clear,  the  view  would  have  been  more  extended,  but  T  do 
not  think  its  broadest  and  brightest  aspect  could  have  surpassed 
in  effect,  the  mysterious  half-light,  half-gloom  in  which  I  saw  it. 

The  clouds  rolled  around  us  as  I  gazed,  and  the  cold  wind  blew 
drearily  among  the  pines.  Our  escort,  now  increased  to  twelve 
lancers,  shortened  their  ascent  by  taking  the  mule  paths.  They 
looked  rather  picturesque,  climbing  in  single  file  through  the 
forest ;  their  long  blue  cloaks  hanging  on  their  horses'  flanks  and 
their  red  pennons  fluttering  in  the  mist.  The  rugged  defiles 
through  which  oiir  road  lay,  are  the  most  famous  resort  for  robbers 
in  all  Mexico.  For  miles  we  passed  through  one  continued 
ambush,  where  frequent  crosses  among  the  rocks  hinted  dark 
stories  of  assault  and  death.  Our  valorous  lancers  lagged  behind, 
wherever  the  rocks  were  highest  and  the  pines  most  thickly  set ; 
I  should  not  have  counted  a  single  moment  on  their  assistance, 
had  we  been  attacked.  I  think  I  enjoyed  the  wild  scenery  of  the 
pass  more,  from  its  perils.  The  ominous  gloom  of  the  day  and 
the  sound  of  the  wind  as  it  swept  the  trailing  clouds  through  the 
woods  of  pine,  heightened  this  feeling  to  something  like  a  positivs 
enjoyment. 

When  we  reached  the  inn  of  Rio  Frio,  a  little  below  the  sum- 
mit of  the  pass,  on  its  eastern  fide,  our  greatest  danger  was  over 
Breakfast  was  on  the  table,  and  the  eggs,  rice,  guisados  and  frijoles 
speedily  disappeared  before  our  sharp-set  appetites.  Luckily  for 
Dur  hunger,  the  diligence  from  Puebla  had  not  arrived.  The  little 
valley  of  Rio  Frio  is  hedged  in  by  high,  piny  peaks,  somewha 


THE    TABLE-LAND    OP    PTJEBLA.  425 

resembling  the  Catskills.    Below  it,  another  wild,  dangerous 
pass  of  two  or  three  miles  opens  upon  the  fertile  and  beautiful 
table-land  of  Puebla.    The  first  object  that  strikes  the  eye  on 
emerging  from  the  woods,  is  the  peak  of  Malinche,  standing 
alone  on  the  plain,  about  midway  between  the  mountain  ranges 
which  terminate,  on  the  Mexican  side,  in  Popocatapetl,  on  the 
Vera  Cruz  side,  in  Orizaba.    I  looked  into  the  sky,  above  the 
tree-tops,  for  the  snows  of  Iztaccihuatl  and  Popocatapetl,  but 
only  a  few  white  streaks  on  the  side  of  the  former  volcano,  could 
be  seen.     A  violent  snow-storm  was  raging  along  its  summit, 
and  upon  Popocatapetl,  which  was  entirely  hidden  from  sight. 
The  table-land  on  which  we  entered,  descends,  with  a  barely 
perceptible  slant,  to  Puebla — a  distance  of  forty  miles.     Its  sur- 
face, fenceless,  and  almost  boundless  to  the  eye,  is  covered  with 
wheat  and  maize.     Fine  roads  cross  it ;  and  the  white  walls  oi 
haciendas,  half-buried  in  the  foliage  of  their  gardens,  dot  it,  at  in- 
tervals, to  the  feet  of  the  distant  mountains.     The  driver,  an  in« 
telligent  Mexican,  pointed  out  to  me  the  various  points  of  interest, 
as  we  passed  along.     He  professed  to  speak  a  little  English,  too, 
which  he  said  he  had  picked  up  from  passengers  on  the  road , 
but  as  all  his  English  amounted  only  to  a  choice  vocabulary  ol 
oaths,  it  told  badly  for  the  character  of  his  passengers. 

All  afternoon  the  clouds  covered  the  summits  of  the  volcanoes, 
and  stretching  like  a  roof  across  the  vaWe-land,  rested  on  the 
oroad  shoulders  of  Malinche.  As  the  sun  descended,  they  lifted 
A  little,  and  I  could  see  the  sides  of  Popocatapetl  as  far  as  the 
omit  of  the  snow;  but  his  head  was  still  hooded.  At  last,  through 
I  break  just  above  the  pinnacle  of  his  cone,  the  hght  poured  in  < 
ftill  blaze,  silvering  the  inner  edges  of  the  clouds  with  a  suddoii 
ind  splendid  lustre.     The  snowy  apex  of  the  mountain,   ^thed  ii 


426  ELDORADO. 

fall  radiance,  seemed  brighter  than  the  sun  itself—a  sjiot  o 
light  so  pure,  so  inconceivably  dazzling,  that  though  I  £ould  not 
withdraw  my  gaze,  the  eye  could  scarcely  bear  its  excess.  Then, 
as  the  clouds  rolled  together  once  more,  the  sun  climbing  throng? 
unierous  rifts,  made  bars  of  light  in  the  vapory  atmosphere, 
caching  from  the  sides  of  Popocatapetl  to  their  bases,  many 
leagues  away,  on.  the  plain.  It  was  as  if  the  mountain  genii  whc 
built  the  volcano  had  just  finished  their  work,  leaving  these,  the 
airy  gangways  of  their  scafiblding,  still  planted  around  it,  to  at- 
test its  marvellous  size  and  grandeur. 

The  most  imposing  view  of  Popocatapetl  is  from  the  side  to- 
wards Puebla.  It  is  not  seen,  as  from  the  valley  of  Mexico,  ovei 
the  rims  of  intermediate  mountains,  but  the  cone  widens  down- 
ward with  an  unbroken  outline,  till  it  strikes  the  smooth  table- 
land. On  the  right,  but  separated  by  a  deep  gap  in  the  rango, 
is  the  broad,  irregular  summit  of  Iztaccihuatl,  gleaming  with 
snow.  The  signification  of  the  name  is  the  "  White  Lady," 
ffLYen  by  the  Azteos  on  account  of  a  fancied  resemblance  in  its 
outline  to  the  figure  of  a  reclining  female.  The  mountain  of  Ma- 
Ijnche,  opposite  to  the  volcanoes,  almost  rivals  them  in  majestic 
appearance.  It  rises  from  a  base  of  thirty  miles  in  breadth,  to 
a  height  of  about  thirteen  thousand  feet.  I  gazed  long  upon 
its  cloudy  top  and  wooded  waist,  which  the  sun  belted  with  a 
beam  of  gold,  for  on  its  opposite  side,  on  the  banks  of  a  river 
which  we  crossed  jus*  before  reaching  Puebla,  stands  the  ancient 
city  of  Tlascala.  f  he  name  of  the  volcano  Malinche,  is  ar, 
Aztec  corruption  ot  Mariana,  the  Indian  wife  of  Cortez.  I  could 
aot  look  upon  it  without  an  ardent  desire  to  stand  on  its  sides,  and 
with  Bernal  Piaz  in  hand,  trace  out  the  extent  of  the  territorj 
once  possessed  by  his  brave  and  magnanimous  allies. 


THE    PYRAMID   OF   CHOLULA.  427 

On  the  other  hand,  between  me  and  the  sunset,  stood  a  atil 
more  interestmg  memorial  of  the  Aztec  power.  There,  in  foD 
view,  its  giant  terraces  clearly  defined  against  the  sky,  the  top- 
most one  crowned  with  cypress,  loomed  the  Pyramid  of  Cholula 
The  lines  of  this  immense  work  are  for  the  most  part  distinctly 
cut ;  on  the  eastern  side,  only,  they  are  slightly  interrupted  by 
vegetation,  and  probably  the  spoliation  of  the  structure.  Although 
several  miles  distant,  and  rising  from  the  level  of  the  plain,  with 
out  the  advantage  of  natural  elevation,  the  size  of  the  pyramid 
astonished  me.  It  seems  an  abrupt  hill,  equal  in  height  and  im- 
posing form  to  the  long  range  in  front  of  it,  or  the  dark  hill  of 
Tlaloc  behind.  Even  with  Popocatapetl  for  a  back-ground,  its 
effect  does  not  diminish.  The  Spaniards,  with  all  their  waste  of 
gold  on  heavy  cathedrals  and  prison-like  palaces,  have  never  equal- 
ad  this  relic  of  the  barbaric  empire  they  overthrew. 

I  do  not  know  whether  the  resemblance  between  the  outline  of 
this  pyramid  and  that  of  the  land  of  Mexico,  from  sea  to  sea,  haf 
been  remarked.  It  is  certainly  no  forced  similitude.  There  is  the 
foundation  terrace  of  the  Tierra  Caliente  ;  the  steep  ascent  to  the 
second  broad  terrace  of  the  table-land ;  and  again,  the  succeeding 
ascent  to  the  lofty,  narrow  plateau  dividing  the  waters  of  the  con- 
tinent. If  we  grant  that  the  forms  of  the  pyramid,  the  dome,  the 
pillar  and  the  arch,  have  their  antitypes  in  Nature,  it  is  no  fan- 
ciful speculation  to  suppose  that  the  Aztecs,  vrith  that  bieadth  ol 
imagination  common  to  intelligent  barbarism,  made  their  world 
he  model  for  their  temples  of  worship  and  sacrifice. 

Cholula  vanished  in  the  dusk,  as  we  crossed  the  river  of  TIas- 
cala  and  enteral  the  shallow  basin  in  which  stands  Puebla.  Th« 
many  towers  of  its  churches  and  convents  showed  picturesque)^ 
b  the  twilight      The  streets  were  filled  with  gay  crowds  return 


128  ELDORADO. 

mg  from  the  Alameda.  Motley  maskers,  on  hoiieback  and  oc 
foot,  reminded  us  that  this  was  the  commencement  of  Carnival. 
The  gieat  plaza  into  which  we  drove  was  filled  with  stands  ot 
fruit- venders,  before  each  of  which  flared  a  large  torch  raiseo 
upon  a  pole.  The  cathedral  is  in  better  style,  and  shows  to 
greater  advantage  than  that  of  Mexico.  So  we  passed  to  the 
Hotel  de  Diligencias,  where  a  good  dinner,  in  readiness,  delighted 
OS  more  than  the  carnival  or  the  cathedral. 

After  the  final  dish  of  frijoles  had  been  dispatched,  I  ma^d  a 
short  night-stroll  through  the  city.  The  wind  was  blowing  s/rong 
and  cold  from  the  mountains,  whistling  under  the  arches  of  tha 
cortal  and  flaring  the  red  torches  that  burned  in  the  market-place 
The  fruit-sellers,  nevertheless,  kept  at  their  posts,  exchanging 
jokes  occasionally  with  a  masked  figure  in  some  nondescript  cos- 
tume. I  found  shelter  from  the  wind,  at  last,  in  a  grand  old 
church,  near  the  plaza.  The  interior  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and 
the  floor  covered  by  kneeling  figures.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
church  itself,  except  its  vastness  and  dimness,  to  interest  me  ;  bu^ 
the  choral  music  I  there  heard  was  not  to  be  described.  A 
choir  of  hojp.  alternating  with  one  of  rich  masculine  voices,  over- 
ran the  full  peal  of  the  organ,  and  filled  the  aisle  with  delicioua 
harmony.  There  was  a  single  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  out 
of  the  aij ,  in  the  pauses  of  the  choral,  and  send  its  clear,  trumpet- 
tones  directly  to  the  heart.  As  long  as  the  exercises  continued,  I 
stood  by  the  door,  completely  chained  by  those  divine  sounds. 
The  incense  finally  faded ;  the  tapers  were  put  out  one  by  one ; 
the  worshippers  arose,  took  another  dip  in  the  basin  of  holy  water, 
and  retired  :  and  I,  too,  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  tried  to  keep 
miva  under  cover  of  a  single  sarape. 

The  manufactures  of  Puebla  are  becoming  important  to  Mexios 


PUEBLil.  429 

— tho  moi  e  so,  from  the  comparative  liberality  which  is  now  exer- 
cised towards  foreigners.  A  few  years  ago,  I  was  informed,  a 
stranger  was  liable  to  be  insulted,  if  not  assaulted,  in  the  streets 
but,  latterly,  this  prejudice  is  vanishing.  The  table-land  around 
the  city  is  probably  one  of  the  finest  grain  countries  in  the  world 
Under  a  proper  administration  of  Government,  Pucbla  might  b© 
come  the  first  manufactaring  town  in  Mezioo- 


CHAPTER  XLm. 

OLIMPSES   OF    PUROATORT    AND    PARADISB. 

RisiNo  before  three  o'clock  is  no  pleasant  thing,  on  the  high 
tal  de-land  of  Puebla,  especially  when  one  has  to  face  the  cold 
from  the  foretop  of  a  diligence ;  but  I  contrived  to  cheat  the  early 
travel  of  its  annoyance,  by  looking  backward  to  Popocatapetl,  which 
rose  cold  and  unclouded  in  the  morning  twilight.  We  sped  over 
fertile  plains,  past  the  foot  of  Malinche,  and  met  the  sunrise  at  the 
town  of  Amozoque,  another  noted  robber-hold.  In  the  arroyos 
which  cross  the  road  at  its  eastern  gate  a  fight  took  place  between 
the  advanced  guard  of  the  American  army  and  a  body  of  Mexican 
soldiers,  on  the  march  to  the  capital. 

From  Amozoque  the  plain  ascends,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
rise,  to  the  summit  of  the  dividing  ridge,  beyond  Perote.  The 
clouds,  which  had  gathered  again  by  this  time,  hid  from  our  view 
the  mountain  barriers  of  the  table-land,  to  the  east  and  west 
The  second  post  brought  us  to  Acajete,  whose  white  dome  and 
towers  we  saw  long  before  reaching  it,  projected  brightly  against 
the  pines  of  a  steep  mountain  behind.  One  is  only  allowed  time 
at  the  posts  to  stretch  his  legs  and  light  a  cigar.  The  horses — oi 
males,  as  the  case  may  be — are  always  in  readiness,  and  woe  to  thi 


PUROATORT.  43] 

nnlncky  traveler  who  stands  a  hundred  yards  from  the  diligenoe 
when  the  rope  is  drawn  away  from  the  ramping  leaders. 

The  insular  mountain  of  Acajete  shelters  a  gang  of  robben 
unong  its  ravines,  and  the  road,  bending  to  the  .eft  around  it4 
base,  is  hedged  with  ambush  of  the  most  convenient  kind.  The 
driver  pointed  out  to  me  a  spot  in  the  thicket  where  one  of  the 
gang  was  shot  not  long  before.  Half-way  up  the  acclivity,  a 
thread  of  blue  smoke  rose  through  the  trees,  apparently  from 
some  hut  or  camp  on  a  little  shelf  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice. 
Further  than  this,  we  saw  nothing  which  seemed  to  denote  their 
propinquity.  The  pass  was  cleared,  the  horses  changed  at  El 
Pinal — a  large  hacienda  on  the  north  side  of  the  mountain — and 
we  dashed  on  till  nearly  noon,  when  the  spires  of  Nopaluca  ap- 
peared behind  a  distant  hUl — ^the  welcome  heralds  of  breakfast ! 

Beyond  this  point,  where  a  trail  branches  oflF  to  Orizaba,  tho 
character  of  the  scenery  is  entirely  changed.  We  saw  no  longer 
the  green  wheat-plains  and  stately  haciendas  of  Puebla.  The 
road  passed  over  an  immense  llano,  covered  with  short,  brown 
grass,  and  swept  by  a  furious  wind.  To  the  north,  occasional 
f^aks — ^barren,  rocky  and  desolate  in  their  appearance, — rose  at 
a  short  distance  from  our  path.  On  the  other  hand,  the  llano 
stretched  away  for  many  a  league,  forming  a  horizon  to  the  eye 
before  it  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  The  wind  frequently 
increased  to  such  a  pitch  that  all  trace  of  the  landscape  was  lost. 
Columns  of  dust,  rismg  side  by  side  from  the  plain,  mingled  aa 
they  whirled  along,  shrouding  us  as  completely  as  a  Newfoimdland 
^.  The  sun  was  at  times  totally  darkened.  My  eyes,  which 
were  strongly  blood-shotten,  from  too  much  gazing  at  the  snows  ol 
Popocatapetl,  were  severely  affected  by  this  hurricane.  But  there 
u  DO  evil  without  some  accompanying  good  ;  and  the  eame  wind 


4*J2  fcLDORADO. 

which  nearly  svifled  me  with  dust,  at  last  brushed  away  the  olovidi 
from  the  smooth,  gradual  outline  of  Cofre  de  Perote,  and  revealed 
the  shining  head  of  Orizaba. 

Beyond  La  Venta  de  Soto,  the  roal  skirts  a  striking  peak  cl 
rock,  whose  outline  is  nearly  that  of  an  exact  pyramid,  several 
thousand  feet  in  height.  The  mozo  called  it  Monte  Pizarro 
From  its  dark  ravines  the  robbers  frequently  sally,  to  attack  tra- 
velers on  the  plain.  At  some  distance  from  the  road,  I  noticed 
a  mounted  guard  who  followed  us  till  relieved  by  another,  planted 
at  short  intervals.  As  the  sunset  came  on,  we  reached  a  savage 
volcanic  region,  where  the  only  vegetation  scattered  over  the  ridgy 
beds  of  black  lava,  was  the  yucca  and  the  bristly  cactus.  There 
•vere  no  inhabitants ;  some  huts,  here  and  there,  stood  in  ruins ; 
and  the  solitary  guard,  moving  like  a  shadow  over  the  lava  hills, 
only  added  to  the  loneliness  and  increased  the  impression  of  dan- 
ger. I  have  seen  many  wild  and  bleak  spots,  but  none  so  abso- 
lutely Tartarean  in  its  aspect.  There  was  no  softer  transition  oi 
scene  to  break  the  feeling  it  occasioned,  for  the  nightfall  deepened 
as  we  advanced,  leaving  everything  in  dusky  shadow,  but  the  vasl 
bulk  of  Cofre  de  Perote,  which  loomed  between  me  and  the  southern 
stars.  At  last,  lights  glimmered  ahead  ;  we  passed  down  a  street 
lined  with  miserable  houses,  across  a  narrow  and  dirty  plaza,  and 
into  a  cramped  court-yard.  The  worst  dinner  we  ate  on  the 
whole  journey  was  being  prepared  in  the  most  cheerless  of  rooms 
This  was  Perote. 

I  went  out  to  walk  after  dinner,  but  did  not  go  for.  The 
•qualid  look  cf  the  houses,  and  the  villanous  expression  of  the 
faces,  seen  by  the  light  of  a  few  starving  lamps,  offered  nothing 
attractive,  and  the  wind  by  this  time  was  more  piercing  than  ever. 
Perote  bears  a  bad  reputation  in  every  respect:  its  situation  b 


TIE    EDGE   OF    THE    TABLE-LAND.  4S^ 

the  bfcakcst  in  Mexico,  and  its  people  the  most  ebamclcss  in  thoii 
depredations.  The  diligence  is  frequently  robbed  at  the  very  gates 
of  the  town.  We  slept  with  another  blanket  on  our  beds,  and 
found  the  addition  of  our  sarapes  still  desirable.  The  mozo  awoke 
as  at  half-past  two,  to  coffee  and  chocolate  in  the  cold.  I  climbed 
into  the  pcscante  and  drew  the  canvas  cover  of  the  top  around 
my  shoulders.  The  driver — an  American,  who  had  been  twenty 
years  on  the  road — ^gave  the  word  of  starting,  and  let  his  eight 
mules  have  full  rein.  Five  lancers  accompanied  us — two  some 
distance  in  advance,  one  on  each  side  and  one  bringing  up  the 
rear.  The  stars  shone  with  a  frosty  lustre,  looking  larger  and 
brighter  in  the  thin  air.  We  journeyed  for  two  hours  in  a  hall 
darkness,  which  nevertheless  permitted  me  to  see  that  the  country 
•ras  worth  little  notice  by  daylight — a  bleak  region,  ten  thousand 
'eet  above  the  sea,  and  very  sparsely  inhabited. 

About  sunrise  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass,  and  com- 
nenced  descending  through  scattering  pine  woods.  The  declivity 
eas  at  first  gradual,  but  when  we  had  passed  the  bevelled  slope  of 
*e  summit  ridge,  our  road  lay  along  the  very  brink  of  the  moxmtains 
overlooking  everything  that  lay  between  them  and  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  Immediately  north  of  the  pass,  the  mountain  chain  turns 
astward,  running  towards  the  Gulf  in  parallel  ridges,  on  the  sum- 
mits of  which  we  looked  down.  The  beds  of  the  valleys,  wild, 
broken,  and  buried  in  a  wilderness  but  little  visited,  were  lost  in 
the  dense  air,  which  filled  them  like  a  vapor.  Beginnmg  at  th 
region  cf  lava  and  stunted  pine,  the  eye  travels  downward,  from 
Bummit  to  summit  of  the  ranges,  catching,  at  intervals,  glimpses 
of  gardens,  green  fields  of  grain,  orange  orchards,  groves  of  palm 
and  gleaming  towers,  till  at  last  it  rests  on  the  far-away  glimmer 
of  the  sea,  under  the  morning  sun  Fancy  yourself  riding  along 
19 


4:34  ELDORADO. 

the  ramparts  of  a  fortress  ten  thousand  feet  in  height,  with  all  the 
climates  of  the  earth  spread  out  below  you,  zone  lying  beyond  zone, 
and  the  whole  bounded  at  the  furthest  horizon  to  which  vision  cas 
reach,  by  the  illimitable  sea !  Such  is  the  view  which  meets  one 
on  descending  to  Jalapa. 

The  road  was  broad  and  smooth,  and  our  mules  whirled  va 
downward  on  a  rapid  gallop.  In  half  an  hour  from  the  time  when 
around  us  the  hoar-frost  was  lying  on  black  ridges  of  lava  and 
whitening  the  tips  of  the  pine  branches,  we  saw  the  orange  and 
banana,  basking  in  the  glow  of  a  region  where  frost  wai 
unknown.  We  were  now  on  the  borders  of  paradise.  The 
streams,  leaping  down  crystal-clear  from  the  snows  of  Cofre  d*. 
Perote,  fretted  their  way  through  tangles  of  roses  and  blossoming 
vines ;  the  turf  had  a  sheen  like  that  of  a  new-cut  emerald ;  tht 
mould,  upturned  for  garden  land,  showed  a  velvety  richness  and 
softness,  and  the  palm,  that  true  child  of  light,  lifted  its  slendei 
shaft  and  spread  its  majestic  leaves  against  the  serene  blue  o1 
heaven.  As  we  came  out  of  the  deep-sunken  valleys  on  the  brow 
of  a  ridge  facing  the  south,  there  stood,  distinct  and  shadowless 
from  base  to  apex,  the  Mountain  of  Orizaba.  It  rose  beyond 
mountains  so  fer  off  that  all  trace  of  chasm  or  ledge  or  belting 
forest  was  folded  in  a  veil  of  blue  air,  yet  its  grand,  immaculate 
cone,  of  perfect  outline,  was  so  white,  so  dazzling,  so  pure  in  its 
frozen  clearness,  like  that  of  an  Arctic  morn,  that  the  eye  lost  its 
sense  of  the  airy  gulf  between,  and  it  seemed  that  I  might  stretch 
out  my  hand  and  touch  it  No  peak  among  mountains  can  be 
more  sublime  than  Orizaba.  Rising  from  the  level  of  the  sea  and 
the  perpetual  summer  of  the  tropics,  with  an  unbroken  line  to  the 
hei^t  of  eighteen  thousand  feet,  it  stands  singly  above  the  othei 
ranges  with  its  spotless  crown  '^f  snow,  as  some  giant,  white-haired 


PAKADISE  486 

Noithcrn  king  mignt  stand  among  a  host  of  the  vreak,  effeminate 
djbai'ites  of  the  South.  Orizaba  dwells  alone  in  my  memoij,  m 
the  only  perfect  type  of  a  mountain  to  be  found  on  the  Earth. 

After  two  leagues  of  this  enchanting  travel  we  came  to  Jalapa, 
i  city  of  about  twenty  thousand  inhabitants,  on  the  slope  of  the 
hills,  half-way  between  the  sea  and  the  table-land,  overlooking  the 
one  and  dominated  by  the  other.  The  streets  arc  as  clean  as  a 
Dutch  cottage ;  the  one-story,  tiled  houses,  sparkling  in  the  sun, 
are  buried  in  gardens  that  rival  the  Hesperides.  Two  miles  before 
reaching  the  town  the  odor  of  its  orange  blossoms  filled  the  air. 
We  descended  its  streets  to  the  Diligence  Hotel,  at  the  bottom, 
where,  on  arriving,  we  found  there  would  be  no  stage  to  Vera 
Cruz  for  two  days,  so  we  gave  ourselves  up  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  spot.  My  fellow-passenger  for  Guanajuato,  Don  A.ntonio 
de  Campos,  and  myself,  climbed  into  the  tower  of  the  hotel,  and 
sat  down  under  its  roof  to  enjoy  the  look-out.  The  whole  land- 
scape was  like  a  garden.  For  leagues  around  the  town  it  was  one 
constant  alternation  of  field,  grove  and  garden — the  fields  of  the 
freshest  green,  the  groves  white  with  blossoms  and  ringing  with  the 
wngs  of  birds,  and  the  gardens  loading  the  air  with  delicious  per 
fume.  Stately  haciendas  were  perched  on  the  vernal  slopes,  and 
in  the  fields ;  on  the  roads  and  winding  mule-paths  of  the  hills  we 
saw  everywhere  a  gay  and  light-hearted  people.  We  passed  the 
whole  afternoon  in  the  tower ;  the  time  went  by  like  a  single  pul- 
iation of  delight.  I  felt,  then,  that  there  could  be  no  greater  hap- 
piness than  in  thus  living  forever,  without  a  single  thought  bcyon 
the  enjoyment  of  the  scene.  My  friend,  Don  Antonio,  was  busy 
with  old  memories.  Twenty  years  before,  he  came  through  Jalapa 
for  tho  first  time,  an  ardent,  aspiring  youth,  thinking  to  achieve 
his  fortane  in  three  or  four  years  and  return  with  it  to  his  natiTC 


436  ELDOBADO. 

Portugal  ,•  but  alas !  twenty  years  had  barely  sufficed  for  the  ful 
filmcnt  of  his  dreams — twenty  years  of  toil  among  the  barren 
mountains  of  Guanajuato.  Now,  he  said,  all  that  time  vanished 
from  his  mind ;  his  boyish  glimpse  of  Jalapa  was  his  Yesterday^ 
and  the  half-forgotten  life  of  his  early  home  lay  close  behind  it. 

After  dinner,  all  our  fellow-travelers  set  out  for  the  Alameda, 
which  lies  in  a  little  valley  at  the  foot  of  the  town.  A  broad 
paved  walk,  with  benches  of  stone  at  the  side  and  stone  urns  on 
lofty  pedestals  at  short  intervals,  leads  to  a  bridge  over  a  deep 
chasm,  where  the  little  river  plunges  through  a  mesh  of  vines  into 
a  large  basin  below.  Beyond  this  bridge,  a  dozen  foot-paths  lead 
off  to  the  groves  and  shaded  glens,  the  haciendas  and  orange 
orchards.  The  idlers  of  the  town  strolled  back  and  forth,  enjoying 
the  long  twilight  and  balmy  air.  We  were  all  in  the  most  joyous 
mood,  and  my  fellow-passengers  of  "three  or  four  different  nations 
expressed  their  delight  in  as  many  tongues,  with  an  amusing 
contrast  of  exclamations:  "  Ah^  qut  joli  pttU  pays  de  Jalape  .'" 
cried  the  little  Frenchwoman,  who  had  talked  in  a  steady  stream 
since  leaving  Mexico,  notwithstanding  she  was  going  to  Franco  on 
account  of  delicate  lungs.  "  SierUe  uste  cl  aroma  de  las  naran- 
iasV  asked  a  dark-eyed  Andalusian.  "  Himmlische  LuftP^ 
exclaimed  the  enraptured  German,  unconsciously  quoting  Gota 
von  Berlichingcn.  Don  Antonio  turned  to  me,  saying  in 
English :  "  My  pulse  is  quicker  and  my  blood  warmer  than  for 
twenty  years ;  I  believe  my  youth  is  actually  coming  back  agam." 
Wc  talked  thus  till  the  stars  came  out  and  the  perfumed  air  was  cooV 
with  invisible  dew. 

When  we  awoke  the  next  morning  it  was  raining,  and  continued 
to  rain  all  day — not  a  slow,  dreary  drizzle,  nor  a  torrent  of  hcavj 
drops,  as  rain  comes  to  us,  but  a  fine,  ethereal,  gauzy  veil  of  mol8' 


jalapa  rain  487 

hire  that  scarcely  stirred  the  grass  on  which  it  fell  or  shook  the 
light  golden  pollen  from  the  orange  flowers.  Eveiy  two  or  three 
days  such  a  shower  comes  down  on  the  soil  of  Jalapa — 

*•  a  perpetaal  April  to  the  ground^ 
Making  it  all  one  emerald." 

Wc  co!ild  not  stroll  among  the  gardens  or  sit  under  the  nms  ol 
tho  Alameda,  but  the  towers  and  halconics  were  left  us  ;  the  land- 
scape, though  faint  and  blurred  by  the  filmy  rain,  was  nearly  a& 
beautiful,  and  the  perfume  coxild  not  be  washed  out  of  the  air 
So  passed  the  day,  and  with  the  night  we  betook  ourselves  early 
to  rest,  for  the  Diligence  was  to  leave  at  three  o'clock  on  tho 
morrow. 

For  two  leagues  after  leaving  Jalapa  I  smelt  the  orange  blos- 
soms in  the  starry  morning,  but  when  daylight  glimmered  on-  tho 
distant  Gulf,  we  were  riding  between  bleak  hills,  covered  with 
p-happaral,  having  descended  to  the  barren  heats  of  the  tropi- 
vd  winter,  beyond  the  line  of  the  mountain-gathered  showers. 
The  road  was  rough  and  toilsome,  but  our  driver,  an  intelligent 
A.merican,  knew  every  stone  and  rut  in  the  dark  and  managed  his 
eight  mules  with  an  address  and  calculation  which  seemed  to  me 
marvellous.  He  had  been  on  the  road  six  years,  at  a  salary  of 
$150  per  month,  from  the  savings  of  which  he  had  purchased  a 
•landsome  little  property  in  Jalapa.  Don  Juan,  as  the  natives 
called  him,  was  a  greatTavoritc  along  the  road,  which  his  sturdy, 
upright  character  well  deserved.  At  sunrise  we  reached  the 
hacienda  of  El  Encero,  belonging  to  Santa  Anna,  as  do  most  ol 
the  other  haciendas  between  Jalapa  and  Vera  Cruz.  The  hill  ol 
Ccrro  Gordo  appeared  before  us,  and  a  drive  of  an  hour  brought 
OS  to  tho  cluster  of  canc-huts  bearing  the  samo  name 


438  ELDORADO 

The  physical  features  of  the  field  of  Cerro  Gordo  are  very  in 
teresting.  It  is  a  double  peak,  rising  from  the  midst  of  rough, 
rolling  hills,  covered  with  a  dense  thicket  of  cactus  and  thomj 
shrubs.  Towards  Vera  Cruz  it  is  protected  by  deep  barrancai 
an  i  passes,  which  in  proper  hands  might  be  made  impregnable. 
Had  Gen.  Scott  attempted  to  take  it  by  advancing  up  the  broad 
highway,  he  must  inevitably  have  lost  the  battle  ;  but  by  cutting 
a  road  through  the  chapparal  with  great  labor,  making  a  circuit  oi 
several  miles,  he  reached  the  north-eastern  slope  of  the  hill — the 
oiost  accessible  point,  and  according  to  the  Mexican  story,  the  side 
least  defended.  Having  gained  one  of  the  peaks  of  the  hill,  the 
charge  was  made  down  the  side  and  up  the  opposite  steep  in  the 
face  of  the  Mexican  batteries.  The  steady  march  of  our  forces 
under  this  deadly  hail,  to  the  inspiriting  blast  of  the  Northern 
bugles,  has  been  described  to  me  by  officers  who  took  part  in  the 
fight,  as  the  most  magnificent  spectacle  of  the  war.  After  taking 
the  battery,  the  guns  were  turned  upon  the  Mexicans,  who  were 
flying  through  the  chapparal  in  all  directions.  Many,  overcome 
by  terror,  leaped  from  the  brink  of  the  barranca  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  and  were  crushed  to  death  in  the  fall.  Santa  Anna,  who 
escaped  at  this  place,  was  taken  down  by  a  path  known  to  some 
of  the  officers.  The  chapparal  is  still  strewn  thickly  with  bleached 
bones,  principally  of  the  mules  and  horses  who  were  attached  to 
the  ammunition  wagons  of  the  enemy.  The  driver  told  mo  that 
antil  recently  there  were  plenty  of  cannon-balls  lying  beside  the 
road,  but  that  every  American,  English  or  French  traveler  took 
one  as  a  relic,  tUl  there  were  no  more  to  be  seen.  A  shallow 
cave  beside  the  road  was  pointed  out  as  the  spot  where  the  Mexi* 
cans  hid  their  ammunition.  It  was  not  discovered  by  our  troops 
Oat  a  Mexican  who  knew  the  secret,  sold  it  to  them  oat  of  r» 


CERRO    GORDO.  439 

vengo  for  the  non-payment  of  some  mules  which  he  had  furnished 
to  his  own  army.  The  driver  lay  hidden  in  Jalapa  for  some  days 
previous  to  the  battle,  unable  to  escape,  and  the  first  intelligence 
he  received  of  what  had  taken  place,  was  that  furnished  by  tht 
sight  of  the  flying  Mexicans  They  poured  through  the  town  that 
evening  and  the  day  following,  he  said,  in  the  wildest  disorder, 
some  mounted  on  donkeys,  some  on  mules,  some  on  foot,  many  of 
the  officers  without  hats  or  swords,  others  wrapped  in  the  dusty 
coat  of  a  private,  and  all  cursing,  gesticulating  and  actually  weep- 
ing, like  men  crazed.  They  had  been  so  confident  of  success  that 
the  reverse  seemed  almost  heart-breaking. 

A  few  mUes  beyond  Cerro  Gordo  we  reached  Plan  del  Rio,  » 
small  village  of  cane  huts,  which  was  burned  down  by  order  of 
Santa  Anna,  on  the  approach  of  the  American  forces.  A  splen 
did  stone  bridge  across  the  river  was  afterwards  blown  up  by  thr 
guerillas,  in  the  foolish  idea  that  they  would  stop  an  American 
specie-train,  coming  from  Vera  Cruz.  In  half  a  day  after  th*. 
.  train  arrived  there  was  an  excellent  road  across  the  chasm,  ano 
the  Mexicans  use  it  to  this  day,  for  the  shattered  arch  has  nevei 
been  rebuilt.  From  Plan  del  Rio  to  the  Puente  Nacional  is  abou« 
three  leagues,  through  the  same  waste  of  cactus  and  chappara 
The  latter  place,  the  scene  of  many  a  brush  with  the  guerilla*- 
duiing  the  war,  is  in  a  very  wild  and  picturesque  glenj  through 
which  the  river  forces  its  way  to  the  sea.  The  bridge  is  one  of 
die  most  magnificent  structures  of  the  kind  on  the  continent.  On 
a  liti^e  knoll,  at  the  end  towards  Jalapa,  stands  a  stately  hacienda 
belonging  to  Santa  Anna. 

V^e  sped  on  through  the  di-eary  chapparal,  now  sprinkled  with 
palms  and  blossoming  trees.  The  coimtry  is  naturally  rich  and 
"*»«luctive,  but  is  little  better  than  a  desert.     The  only  inhabitant* 


440  BLDORAtoO 

are  a  set  of  half-naked  Indians,  wlio  live  in  miseiable  huts,  Stip 
porting  themselves  by  a  scanty  cultivation  of  maize,  and  the  deei 
they  kill  in  the  thickets  Just  before  we  reached  the  sea-shore 
one  of  these  people  came  out  of  the  woods,  with  a  little  spotted 
fawn  in  his  arms,  which  he  oflFered  to  sell.  The  driver  bought  it 
for  a  dollar,  and  the  beautiful  little  creature,  not  more  than  tw 
weeks  old,  was  given  to  me  to  carry.  I  shielded  it  from  the  cold 
9ca-wind,  and  with  a  contented  bleat  it  nestled  down  in  my  lap 
and  soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

At  sunset  we  drove  out  on  the  broad  sands  bordering  the  Gulf 
A  chill  norther  was  blowing,  and  the  waves  thundered  over  the 
ooral  reefs  with  a  wintry  sound.  Vera  Cruz  sat  on  the  bleak 
flhorc,  a  league  before  us,  her  domes  and  spires  painted  on  the 
gloomy  sky.  The  white  walls  of  San  Juan  d'UUoa  rose  from  the 
4mter  beyond  the  shipping.  Not  a  tree  or  green  thing  was  to  bo 
Kcu  for  miles  around  the  city,  which  looked  as  complctel}  deso- 
•ate  as  if  built  in  the  middle  of  Zahara  Nevertheless,  I  blessed 
he  sight  of  it,  and  felt  a  degree  of  joy  as  I  passed  within  its  gates, 
'or  the  long  journey  of  twelve  hundred  miles  across  the  Continent 
vas  safely  accomplished 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

VERA   CRUZ    AKD  SAN   JUAN    D'uLLOA HOMEWARD. 

I  CANNOT  say  mach  of  Vera  Cruz.  A  town  built  and  sustained 
by  commerce  alone,  and  that  not  the  most  flourishing,  presents 
few  points  of  interest  to  the  traveler.  Its  physiognomy  differs  but 
little  from  that  of  the  other  Mexican  cities  I  have  described 
There  is  the  Plaza,  flanked  by  the  Cathedral, — the  same  pink 
mass  of  old  Spanish  architecture,  picttiresque  only  for  its  associa- 
tions— the  Diligence  Hotel,  with  its  arched  corridor  forming  a  cm 
tal  along  one  side — the  dreary,  half-deserted  streets,  with  -theb 
jccasional  palaces  of  stone  enclosing  paved  and  fountained  court- 
yards— the  market,  heaped  with  the  same  pyramids  of  firut  which 
have  become  so  familiar  to  us — the  dirty  adobe  huts,  nearest  th< 
walls,  with  their  cut-throat  population — and  finally,  the  population 
teelf  rendered  more  active,  intelligent  and  civilized  by  the  pre- 
mce  of  a  large  number  of- foreigners,  but  still  comprised  mainlj 
of  the  half-breed,  with  the  same  habits  and  propensities  as  we  find 
in  the  interior.  The  town  is  contracted ;  standing  in  the  plaza,  ono 
can  see  its  four  corners,  bounded  by  the  walls  and  the  sea,  and  aD 
within  A  few  minutes'  walk  Outside  of  the  gates  wo  como  at  onc« 
apon  tlie  deserts  of  sand. 


442  ELDORADO. 

On  reaching  Vera  Cmz,  there  were  no  tidings  of  the  stcaraei 
which  was  due  on  the  4th.  The  U.  S.  schooner  Fliit,  Capt 
Farren,  was  in  port  waiting  for  a  norther  to  go  down,  to  sail  foi 
New  Orleans,  but  there  was  small  chance  of  passage  on  board  of 
her.  On  the  morning  of  the  15th,  the  U.  S.  steamer  Water-witch 
iJapt  Totten,  made  her  appearance,  bound  homeward  after  a 
cruise  to  Havana,  Sisal,  Campeachy  and  Laguna.  I  had  almosi 
determined,  in  default  of  any  other  opportunity,  to  take  passage 
in  her,  as  a  "  distressed  citizen,"  when,  on  rowing  out  to  the 
Castle  of  San  Juan  d'Ulloa  on  the  third  morning,  one  of  the  boat- 
men descried  a  faint  thread  of  smoke  on  the  horizon.  "  El 
vapor .'"  was  the  general  exclamation,  and  at  least  fifty  dissatisfied 
nersons  recovered  their  good-humor. 

My  friend  Don  Antonio  was  acquainted  with  the  Commandante 
of  the  Castle,  Don  Manuel  Robles,  by  which  means  we  obtained 
free  admission  within  its  coral  walls.  It  is  a  place  of  immense 
strength,  and  in  the  hands  of  men  who  know  how  to  defend  it,  need 
no  more  be  taken  than  Gibraltar.  We  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
tower,  walked  around  the  parapets,  shouted  into  the  echoing  wells 
sunk  deep  in  the  rock,  and  examined  its  gigantic  walls.  Tho 
spongy  coral  of  which  it  is  built  receives  the  shot  and  shells  that 
have  been  thrown  upon  it,  without  splintering ;  here  and  there 
we  noticed  holes  where  they  had  imbedded  themselves  in  it,  rathei 
»dding  to  its  solidity.  We  sat  two  or  three  hours  in  the  tower, 
watching  the  approaching  smoke  of  the  steamer.  As  the  chimes 
rang  noon  in  Vera  Cruz,  a  terrific  blast  of  trumpets  pealed  through 
the  courtyard  of  tho  Castle,  below  us.  The  yellow-faced  soldiers, 
in  their  white  shirts  and  straw  hats  with  the  word  "  Ulua"  upon 
them,  mustered  along  one  side,  and  after  a  brief  drill,  had  ihcb 
dinner  of  rice  frijoles  and  ooflFee  served  to  -.hem.     The  force  ip 


«CNDAT  m   VERjl    CRUZ.  443 

the  Castle  appeared  very  small ;  the  men  were  buried  in  its  im- 
mense vaults  and  galleries,  and  at  times,  looking  dcwn  from  tho 
tower,  scarcely  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  The  Commandantc  invited 
OS  to  his  quarters,  aad  offered  us  refreshments,  after  wc  had  made 
the  round  of  the  parapets.  Singularly  enough,  his  room  was  hung 
with  American  engravings  of  the  battles  of  the  late  war 

The  most  interesting  object  in  Vera  Cruz  is  an  old  church,  in 
the  southern  part  of  the  city,  which  was  built  by  Cortcz,  in  1531 
— the  oldest  Christian  church  in  the  New  World.  Some  mUea 
distant  is  the  old  town  of  Vera  Cruz,  which  was  abandoned  for  tho 
present  site.  I  had  not  time  to  visit  it,  nor  the  traces  of  the 
Americans  among  the  sand-hills  encircling  the  city.  One  Sunday 
evening,  however,  I  visited  the  paseo,  a  paved  walk  outside  tho 
gate,  with  walls  to  keep  off  the  sand  and  some  miserable  attempts 
at  trees  hero  and  there.  As  it  was  Carnival,  the  place  was 
crowded,  but  most  of  the  promenaders  appeared  to  be  foreigners 
Beyond  the  paseo,  however,  stood  a  cluster  of  half-ruined  buildings, 
where  the  lower  class  of  the  native  population  was  gathered  at  a 
fandango.  After  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  nothing  was  talked  of 
but  our  departure  and  nothing  done  but  to  pack  trunks  and  contiivo 
ways  of  smuggling  money,  in  order  to  avoid  the  export  duty  of  six 
per  cent 


We  left  Vera  Cruz  on  the  morning  of  February  19tli,  and  reached 
Tampico  Bar  after  a  run  of  twenty-two  hours.  The  surf  was  so 
high  after  the  recent  norther,  that  we  were  obliged  to  wait  three 
days  before  the  little  river-steamer  could  come  to  us  with  her  nil- 
lion  of  dollars.  The  Thames,  however,  was  so  spacious  and  plea- 
sant a  ship,  that  we  were  hardly  annoyed  by  the  delay.  Coming 
from  Bcmi-civilized  Mexico,  the  sight  of  English  order  and  the  en- 


444  £LI>0RA£  9 

joyment  of  English  comfort  were  doubly  agvccablc.  Among  otu 
passengers  were  Lady  Emeline  Stuart  Wortley,  returning  from  a 
heroic  trip  to  Mexico  ;  Lord  Mark  Kerr,  a  gentleman  of  intcUi 
gence  and  refinement,  and  an  amateur  artLst  of  much  talent ;  and 
Mr  Hill,  an  English  traveler,  on  his  way  home  after  three  yean* 
f^pent  in  Russia,  Siberia,  Polynesia,  and  the  interior  of  South 
America.  My  eight  days  spent  on  board  the  Thames,  passed 
&way  rapidly,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  26th,  wc  made  the 
light-house  on  Mobile  Point,  and  came-to  among  the  shipping  at 
the  anchorage.  I  transferred  myself  and  sarape  to  the  deck  of  r 
high-pressure  freight-boat,  and  after  lying  all  night  in  the  bay,  on 
account  of  a  heavy  fog,  set  foot  next  morning  on  the  wharf  at 
Mobile. 

Leaving  the  samo  aflemoon,  I  passed  two  days  on  the  beautiful 
Alabama  River ;  was  whirled  in  the  cars  from  Montgomery  to 
Opelika,  and  jolted  twenty-four  hours  in  a  shabby  stage,  over  the 
hills  of  Georgia,  to  the  station  of  Griffin,  on  the  Central  Railroad , 
sped  away  through  Atlanta  and  Augusta  to  Charleston  ;  tossed  a 
oight  on  the  Atlantic,  crossed  the  pine-barrens  of  Carolina  and 
the  impoverished  fields  of  the  Old  Dominion ;  halted  a  day  at 
Washington  to  deliver  dispatches  from  Mexico,  a  day  art  Home,  in 
[Pennsylvania,  and  finally  reached  my  old  working-desk  in  the  Tri- 
bune Office  on  the  night  of  March  10th — just  eight  months  and 
light  days  from  the  time  of  my  departure. 

Thus  closed  a  journey  more  novel  and  adventurous  than  any  I 
hope  to  make  again.     I  trust  the  profit  of  it  has  not  been  whoUy 
mine,  but  that  the  reader  who  has  followed  me  through  the  fore 
going  pages,  may  find  some  things  in  them,  whicli  to  have  res 
were  not  also  to  have  forgotten. 


THE 

STORY   OF   KEN  NEXT 


Br 

BAYARD    TAYLOR 


author's  revised  Enmov 


Entered  rcccrding  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
•  Bavakd  Taylor, 

in  the  Gierke's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


PROLOGUE. 


To  MY  Frie\ds  and  Xeighbors  of  Kennett  : 

I  WISH  to  dedicate  this  Story  to  you,  not  only  because 
some  of  you  inhabit  the  very  houses,  and  till  the  very  fields 
which  I  have  given  to  the  actors  in  it,  but  also  because 
many  of  you  will  recognize  certain  of  the  latter,  and  are 
therefore  able  to  judge  whether  they  are  drawn  with  the 
simple  truth  at  which  I  have  aimed.  You  are,  naturally, 
the  critics  whom  I  have  most  cause  to  Year ;  but  I  do  not 
inscribe  these  pages  to  you  with  the  design  of  purchasing 
your  favor.  I  beg  you  all  to  accept  the  fact  as  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  many  quiet  and  happy  years  I  have  spent 
among  you  ;  of  the  genial  and  pleasant  relations  into  which 
I  was  born,  and  which  have  never  diminished,  even  when 
I  have  returned  to  you  from  the  farthest  ends  of  the  earth ; 
and  of  tlie  use  (often  unconsciously  to  you,  I  confess,)  which 
I  have  drawn  from  your  memories  of  former  days,  your 
habits  of  thought  and  of  life. 

I  am  aware  that  truth  and  fiction  are  so  carefully  woven 
together  in  this  Story  of  Kennett,  that  you  will  sometimes 
be  at  a  loss  to  disentangle  them.  The  lovely  pastoral  land- 
scapes which  I  know  by  heart,  have  been  copied,  field  foi 
field  and  tree  for  tree,  and  these  you  will  immediately 


IV  PROLOGUE. 

recognize.  lilany  of  you  will  have  no  difliculty  in  detecting 
tlie  originals  of  Sandy  Flash  and  Deb.  Smith ;  a  few  wiD 
renicmbcr  the  noble  horse  which  performed  the  service  I 
have  ascribed  to  Roger ;  and  the  descendants  of  a  certain 
family  will  not  have  forgotten  some  of  the  pranks  of  Joe 
and  Jake  Fairthorn.  Many  more  than  these  particulars 
are  drawn  from  actual  sources ;  but  as  I  have  employed 
them  with  a  strict  regard  to  the  purposes  of  the  Story, 
transferring  dates  and  characters  at  my  pleasure,  you  will 
often,  I  doubt  not,  attribute  to  invention  that  which  I  owe 
to  family  tradition.  Herein,  I  must  request  that  you  will 
allow  me  to  keep  my  own  counsel ;  for  the  processes  which 
led  to  the  completed  work  extend  through  many  previous 
years,  and  cannot  readily  be  revealed.  I  will  only  say  that 
every  custom  I  have  described  is  true  to  the  time,  though 
some  of  them  are  now  obsolete  ;  that  I  have  used  no  pecu- 
liar word  or  phrase  of  the  common  dialect  of  the  countrj 
which  I  have  not  myself  heard ;  and  further,  that  I  owe 
the  chief  incidents  of  the  last  chapter,  given  to  me  on  hei 
death-bed,  to  the  dear  and  noble  woman  whose  charactei 
(not  the  circumstances  of  her  life)  I  have  endeavored  to 
reproduce  in  that  of  Martha  Dcane. 

The  country  life  of  our  part  of  Pennsj'lvania  retains  more 
elements  of  its  English  origin  than  that  of  New  England 
or  Virginia.  Until  within  a  few  years,  the  conservative 
influence  of  the  Quakers  was  so  powerful  that  it  continued 
to  shape  the  habits  even  of  connnunities -whose  religious 
sentiment  it  failed  to  reach.  Hence,  whatever  might  be 
selected  as  incorrect  of  American  life,  in  its  broader  sense, 
in  these  pages,  is  nevertheless  locally  true ;  and  to  this,  at 
least,  all  of  you,  my  Friends  and  Neighbors,  can  testify. 
In  these  days,  when  Fiction  prefers  to  deal  with  abnormal 


PROLOGtJfi.  f 

cbaractcrs  and  psychological  problems  more  or  less  excep- 
tional or  morbid,  the  attempt  to  represent  the  elements  of 
life  in  a  simple,  healthy,  pastoral  community,  has  been  to 
me  a  source  of  uninterrupted  enjoyment  May  you  read  it 
with  half  the  interest  I  have  felt  in  Trriting  it  1 

BATABD  TATLOB. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  CHASE 1 

CHAPTER  n. 

WHO  SHALL  HAVE  THE  BRUSH  ? ~l4 

CHAPTER  HI. 

MAEY  POTTEE  AXD  HER  SON 23 

CHAPTER  IV.  . , 

roETUKE  A^^>  misfortune 38 

CHAPTER  V.  ...... 

OtTESTS  AT  FAIETHOEN'S 45 

y  CHAPTER  VI.  - 

THE  NEW  GILBERT 57 

CHAPTER   Vn.  .     ^ 

OLD  KENNETT  MEETING ...'..'.  .'.        (^ 

CHAPTER  Vm. 

AT  DR.  DEANE'S .........  ...J.  .tt/.'Vl.'r  "  W 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  RAISING..      .".....;•......;;.    ■'88 


CHAPTER  X. 

■TBR  RIVALS. .-.r.-. ;;  r  "Ifli 

Til 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

GUEST3  AT  POTTER'S 112 

CHAPTER   Xn. 
THE  EVENTS  OP  AN  EVE^'ING. ,  .,,.,,..  • .,.  • 121 

CHAPTER  XHL 
TWO  OLD  MEU i:-rrri'T7 183 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

DOUBTS  AND  SUEMISES •„•••••     1*3 

CHAPTER  XV. 

ALFRED  BARTON  BETWEEN  TWO  FIRES 155 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

MARTHA  DEANE 166 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
CONSXTLTATIONS 179 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BANDY  FLASH  REAPPEARS 191 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  HUSKING  FROLIC 205 

CHAPTER  XX. 

GILBERT  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  CHESTER _^lji 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

JROGEB  REPAYS  HIS  MASTER ,..  .....  •  -y     881 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

MARTHA  DEANE  TAKES  A  RESOLUTION ,-^  'J^ 

CHAPTER  XXin. 

A  CROSS-EXAMINATION. "861 


CONTENTS.  ix 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PAGE 

DEB.  SaiTH  TAKES  A  RESOLUTION 273 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

TWO  ATTEMPTS 287 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  LAST  OF  SA>T)Y  FLASH 801 

CHAPTER  XXVn. 
QILBEET  INDEPENDENT 815 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 
MISS  LAVEJfDEE  MAKES  A  GUESS 827 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MYSTERIOUS   MOVEMENTS 342 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
THE  FUNERAL 355 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  WILL 367 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
THE  LOVERS 883 

CHAPTER  XXXIH. 
HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 394 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
THE  WEDDING 


406 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  CHASE. 

At  noon,  on  the  first  Saturday  of  March,  1796,  there 
iras  an  unusual  stir  at  the  old  Barton  farm-house,  just 
across  the  creek  to  the  eastward,  as  you  leave  Kennect 
Square  by  the  Philadelphia  stage-road.  Any  gathering  of 
the  people  at  Barton's  was  a  most  rare  occurrence  ;  yet,  on 
that  day  and  at  that  hour,  whoever  stood  upon  the  porch  of 
the  corner  house,  in  the  village,  could  see  horsemen  ap- 
proaching by  all  the  four  roads  which  there  met  Some 
five  or  six  had  already  dismounted  at  the  Unicorn  Tavern, 
and  were  refreshing  themselves  with  stout  glasses  of  "  Old 
Rye,"  while  their  horses,  tethered  side  by  side  to  the  pegs 
in  the  long  hitching-bar,  pawed  and  stamped  impatiently. 
An  eye  familiar  with  the  ways  of  the  neighborhood  might 
have  surmised  the  nature  of  the  occasion  which  called  so 
many  together,  from  the  appearance  and  equipment  of 
these  horses.  They  were  not  heavy  animals,  with  the 
marks  of  plough-collars  on  their  broad  shoulders,  or  the 
hair  worn  off  their  rumps  by  huge  breech-straps  ;  but  light 
and  clean-limbed,  one  or  two  of  them  showing  signs  of 
good  blood,  and  all  more  carefully  groomed  than  usual. 

Evidently,  there  was  no  "  vendue  "  at  the  Barton  farm- 
house ;  neither  a  funeral,  nor  a  wedding,  since  male  guests 
seemed  to  have  been  exclusively  bidden.     To  be  sure, 
JifiRa.  Betsy  Lavender  had  been  observed  to  issue  from  Dr. 
1 


9  THE  STORY  OF  KENN^TT. 

Dcanc*s  door,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  and  turn 
into  the  path  beyond  the  blacksmith's,  which  led  down 
through  the  wood  and  over  the  creek  to  Barton's;  but 
then,  Miss  Lavender  was  known  to  be  handy  at  all  times, 
and  capable  of  doing  all  things,  from  laying  out  a  corpse  to 
spicing  a  wedding-cake.  Often  self-inviied,  but  always 
welcome,  very  few  social  or  domestic  events  could  occur  in 
four  townships  (East  Marlborough,  Kennett,  Pennsbury, 
and  New-Garden)  without  her  presence  ;  while  her  knowl- 
edge of  farms,  families,  and  genealogies  extended  up  to 
Fallowfield  on  one  side,  and  over  to  Birmingham  on  the 
other. 

It  was,  tlierefore,  a  matter  of  course,  whatever  the  pres- 
ent occasion  might  be,  that  Miss  Lavender  put  on  her 
broad  gray  beaver  hat,  and  brown  stuff  clouk,  and  took  the 
way  to  Barton's.  The  distance  could  easily  be  walked  in 
five  minutes,  and  the  day  was  remarkably  pleasant  for  the 
season.  A  fortnight  of  warm,  clear  weather  had  extracted 
the  last  fang  of  frost,  and  there  was  already  green  grass  in 
the  damp  hollows.  Bluebirds  picked  the  last  year's  berries 
from  the  cedar-trees ;  buds  were  bursting  on  the  swamp- 
willows  ;  the  alders  were  hung  with  tassels,  and  a  powdery 
crimson  bloom  began  to  dust  the  bare  twigs  of  the  maple- 
trees.  All  these  signs  of  an  early  spring  Miss  Lavender 
noted  as  she  picked  her  way  down  the  wooded  bank.  Once, 
indeed,  she  stopped,  wet  her  forefinger  with  her  tongue,  and 
held  it  pointed  in  the  air.  There  was  very  little  breeze,  but 
this  natural  weathercock  revealed  from  what  direction  it 
came. 

"  Southwest ! "  she  said,  nodding  her  head  —  "  Lucky  I  ' 
Having  crossed  the  creek  on  a  flat  log,  secured  with 
stakes  at  either  end,  a  few  more  paces  brought  her  to  the 
warm,  gentle  knoll,  upon  which  stood  the  farm-house. 
Here,  the  wood  ceased,  and  the  creek,  sweeping  around  to 
the  eastward,  embraced  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  rich  bottom- 
land, before  entering  the  rocky  dell  below.    It  was  a  plcaa- 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  jj 

ant  seat,  and  the  age  of  the  house  denoted  tliat  one  ol  the 
earliest  settlers  had  been  quick  to  perceive  its  advantn^rcs. 
A  hundred  years  had  already  elapsed  since  the  masons  had 
run  up  those  walls  of  rusty  hornblende  rock,  and  it  was 
even  said  that  the  leaden  window-sashes,  with  their  dia- 
mond-shaped panes  of  greenish  glass,  had  been  brought 
over  from  England,  in  the  days  of  William  Penn.  In  fact, 
the  ancient  aspect  of  the  place  —  the  tall,  massive  chimney 
at  the  gable,  the  heavy,  projecting  eaves,  and  the  holly-bush 
in  a  warm  nook  beside  the  front  porch,  had,  nineteen  years  * 
before,  so  forcibly  reminded  one  of  Howe's  soldiers  of  his 
father's  homestead  in  mid-England,  that  he  was  numbered 
among  the  missing  after  the  Brandywine  battle,  and  pres- 
ently turned  up  as  a  hired  hand  on  the  Barton  farm,  where 
he  still  lived,  year  in  and  year  out 

An  open,  grassy  space,  a  hundred  yards  in  breadth,  in- 
tervened  between  the  house  and  the  bam,  which  was  built 
against  the  slope  of  the  knoll,  so  that  the  bridge  to  the 
threshing-floor  was  nearly  level,  and  the  stables  below  weie 
sheltered  from  the  north  winds,  and  open  to  the  winter  sun. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  lane  leading  from  the  high-road 
stood  a  wagon-house  and  corn-crib  —  the  latter  empty,  yet 
evidently,  in  spite  of  its  emptiness,  the  principal  source  of 
attraction  to  the  visitors.  A  score  of  men  and  boys  peeped 
between  the  upright  laths,  and  a  dozen  dogs  howled  and 
sprang  around  the  smooth  corner-posts  upon  which  the 
structure  rested.  At  the  door  stood  old  Giles,  the  military 
Bti*aggler  already  mentioned  —  now  a  grizzly,  weather- 
beaten  man  of  fifty  —  with  a  jolly  grin  on  his  face,  and  a 
short  leather  whip  in  his  hand. 

"  TVant  to  see  him,  Miss  Betsy  ?  "  he  asked,  touching  his 
mink-skin  cap,  as  Miss  Lavender  crawled  through  the  near- 
est panel  of  the  lofty  picket  'ence. 

**  See  him  ?  "  she  repeatea.  "  Don't  care  if  I  do,  afore 
goin'  into  th'  house." 

**  Come  up,  then ;  out  p'  the  way.  Gate      Fan,  take  that, 


4  THE  STORY  OF  KENllETT. 

you  slut  I  Don't  be  afeard,  Miss  Betsy ;  if  folks  kept  em 
in  the  leash,  as  had  ought  to  be  done,  I  'd  have  less  trouble 
They  're  mortal  eager,  and  no  wonder.  There  !  —  a'n'l 
he  a  sly-lookin'  divel  ?  If  I  'd  a  boss.  Miss  Betsy,  I  'd  fol- 
ler  with  the  best  of  'em,  and  maybe  you  would  n't  have 
the  brush  ?  " 

"  Have  the  brush.  Go  along,  Giles  !  He  's  an  old  one, 
and  knows  how  to  take  care  of  it  Do  keep  off  the  dread- 
ful dogs,  and  let  me  git  down ! "  cried  Miss  Lavender, 
gathering  her  narrow  petticoats  about  her  legs,  and  sui*vey- 
ing  the  struggling  animals  before  her  with  some  dismay. 

Giles's  whip  only  reached  the  nearest,  and  the  excited 
pack  rushed  forward  again  after  every  repulse ;  but  at  this 
juncture  a  tall,  smartly-dressed  man  came  across  the  lane, 
kicked  the  hounds  out  of  the  way,  and  extended  a  helping 
hand  to  the  lady. 

"  Ho,  Mr.  Alfred ! "  said  she  ;  "  Much  obliged.  Miss 
Ann  's  bavin'  her  hands  full,  I  reckon  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  slipped  into  the  yard 
and  along  the  front  of  the  house,  to  the  kitchen  entrance, 
at  the  eastern  end.  There  we  will  leave  her,  and  return  to 
the  group  of  gentlemen. 

Any  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  Mr.  Alfred  Barton 
was  the  most  important  person  present.  His  character  of 
host  gave  him,  of  course,  the  right  to  control  the  order  of 
the  coming  chase;  but  his  size  and  swaggering  air  of 
strength,  his  new  style  of  hat,  the  gloss  of  his  blue  coat, 
the  cut  of  his  buckskin  breeches,  and  above  all,  the  splen- 
dor of  his  tasselled  top-boots,  distinguished  him  from  his 
more  homely  apparelled  guests.  His  features  were  large 
and  heavy :  the  full,  wide  lips  betrayed  a  fondness  for  in- 
dulgence, and  the  small,  uneasy  eyes  a  capacity  for  con- 
cealing this  and  any  other  quality  which  needed  conceal- 
ment They  were  hard  and  cold,  generally  more  than  half 
bidden  under  thick  lids,  and  avoided,  rather  than  sought, 
the  glance  of  the  man  to  whom  he  spoke.    Bis  liair,  a 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  f 

mixture  of  red-brown  and  gray,  descended,  wtthoat  a 
break,  into  bushy  whiskers  of  the  same  color,  and  was  cut 
shorter  at  the  back  of  the  head  than  was  then  customary 
Something  coarse  and  vulgar  in  his  nature  exhaled,  like  a 
powerful  odor,  through  the  assumed  shell  of  a  gentleman, 
which  he  tried  to  wear,  and  rendered  the  assumption 
useless. 

A  few  guests,  who  had  come  from  a  distance,  had  just 
finished  their  dinner  in  the  farm-house.  Owing  to  causes 
which  will  hereafter  be  explained,  they  exhibited  less  than 
the  usual  plethoric  satisfaction  after  the  hospitality  of  the 
country,  and  were  the  first  to  welcome  the  appearance  of 
a  square  black  bottle,  which  went  the  rounds,  with  the  ob- 
servation :  "  Whet  up  for  a  start  1 " 

Mr.  Barton  drew  a  heavy  silver  watch  from  his  fob,  and 
carefully  holding  it  so  that  the  handful  of  glittering  seals 
could  be  seen  by  everybody,  appeared  to  meditate. 

•*  Five  minutes  to  one,"  he  said  at  last  "  No  use  in 
waiting  much  longer ;  't  is  n't  good  to  keep  the  hounds 
fretting.     Any  signs  of  anybody  else  ?  " 

The  others,  in  response,  turned  towards  the  lane  and 
highway.  Some,  with  keen  eyes,  fancied  they  could  detect 
a  horseman  through  the  wood.  Presently  Giles,  from  his 
perch  at  the  door  of  the  corn-crib,  cried  out : 

"  There  's  somebody  a-comin'  up  the  meadow.  1  don'l 
know  the  boss ;  rides  like  Gilbert  Potter.  Gilbert  it  is, 
blast  me !  new-mounted." 

"  Another  plough-horse ! "  suggested  Mr.  Joel  Ferris,  a 
young  Pennsbiiry  buck,  who,  having  recently  come  into  a 
legacy  of  four  thousand  pounds,  wished  it  to  be  forgotten 
that  b*»  had  never  ridden  any  but  plough-horses  until  wi  hin 
tlie  year. 

The  others  laughed,  some  contemptuously,  glancing  at 
their  own  well-equipped  animals  the  while,  some  constrain- 
edly, for  they  knew  the  approaching  guest,  and  felt  a  slight 
compunction  in  seeming  to  side  with  Mr.  Ferris.    Barton 


6  THE  STOKT  OF  KENNETT. 

began  to  smile  stiffly,  but  presently  bit  his  Up  and  dren 
hib  brows  together. 

Pressing  the  handle  of  his  riding-whip  against  his  chin, 
be  sUired  vacantly  up  the  lane,  muttering  "  "Wc  must  wait^ 
I  suppose." 

His  lids  were  lifted  in  wonder  the  next  moment;  he 
seized  Ferris  by  the  arm,  and  exclaimed :  — 

"  Whom  have  wc  here  ?  " 

All  eyes  turned  in  the  same  direction,  descried  a  dashing 
horseman  in  the  lane. 

"  Upon  my  soul  I  don't  know,"  said  Ferris.  "  Anybody 
expected  from  the  Fagg's  Manor  way  ?  " 

"Not  of  my  inviting,"  Barton  answered. 

The  other  guests  professed  their  entire  ignorance  of  the 
stranger,  who,  having  by  this  time  passed  the  bars,  rode 
directly  up  to  the  group.  He  was  a  short,  broad-shoul- 
dered man  of  nearly  forty,  with  a  red,  freckled  face,  keen, 
snapping  gray  eyes,  and  a  close,  wide  mouth.  Thick,  jet- 
black  whiskers,  eyebrows  and  pig-tail  made  the  glance  of 
those  eyes,  the  gleam  of  his  teeth,  and  the  color  of  his 
skin  where  it  was  not  reddened  by  the  wind,  quite  daz- 
zling. This  violent  and  singular  contrast  gave  his  plain, 
conuiion  features  an  air  of  distinction.  Although  his  mul- 
berry coat  was  somewhat  faded,  it  had  a  jaunty  cut,  and  if 
his  breeches  were  woni  and  stained,  the  short,  muscular 
thighs  and  strong  knees  they  covered,  told  of  a  practised 
horseman. 

He  rode  a  large  bay  gelding,  poorly  groomed,  and  ap- 
parently not  remarkable  for  blood,  but  with  no  marks  of 
harness  on  his  rough  coat 

"Good -day  to  you,  gentlemen!"  said  the  stranger, 
familiarly  knocking  the  handle  of  his  whip  against  his 
cocked  hat.     " Squire  Barton,  how  do  you  do?" 

•*How  do  you  do,  sir?"  responded  Mr.  Barton,  instantly 
flattered  by  the  title,  to  which  he  had  no  legitimate  right 
"1  believe,"  he  added,  "you  have  the  advantage  of  me." 


TnE  STOKT   OF  KENNETT.  7 

A  broad  smile,  or  rather  grin,  spread  over  the  stranger's 
face.  His  teeth  flashed,  and  his  eyes  shot  forth  a  bright, 
malicious  ray.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  ran  rapidly  over 
the  faces  of  the  others  v/ithout  perceptibly  moving  his 
head,  and  noting  the  general  curiosity,  said,  at  last:  — 

"  I  hardly  expected  to  find  an  .icquaintance  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, but  a  chase  makes  quick  fellowship.  I  happened 
to  hear  of  it  at  the  Anvil  Tavern,  —  am  on  my  way  to  the 
.Rising  Sun;  so,  you  see,  if  the  hunt  goes  down  Tuffkeua^ 
mon,  as  is  likely,  it 's  so  much  of  a  lift  on  the  way." 

"  All  right,  —  glad  to  have  you  join  us.  What  did  you 
say  your  name  was  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Barton. 

"  I  did  n't  say  what ;  it 's  Fortune,  —  a  fortune  left  to 
me  by  my  father,  ha !  ha  !     Don't  care  if  I  do  "  — 

With  the  latter  words,  P'ortune  (as  we  must  now  caP 
him)  leaned  down  from  his  saddle,  took  the  black  bottle 
from  the  unresisting  hands  of  Mr.  Ferris,  inverted  it 
against  his  lips,  and  drank  so  long  and  luxuriously  as  to 
bring  water  into  the  mouths  of  the  spectators.'  Then, 
wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  freckled  hand,  he 
winked  and  nodded  his  head  approvingly  to  Mi.  Barton. 

Meanwhile  the  other  horseman  had  arrived  from  the 
meadow,  after  dismounting  and  letting  down  the  bars,  over 
which  his  horse  stepped  slowly  and  cautiously,  —  a  circum- 
stance which  led  some  of  the  yoimger  guests  to  exchange 
quicv,  amused  glances.  Gilbert  Potter,  however,  received 
a  hearty  greeting  from  all,  including  the  host,  though  the 
latter,  by  an  increased  shyness  in  meeting  his  gaze,  mani- 
fested some  secret  constraint 

"I  was  afraid  I  should  have  been  too  late,"  said  Gilbert; 
"the  old  break  in  the  hedge  is  stopped  at  last,  so  I  came 
over  the  hill  above,  without  thinking  on  the  swampy  bit, 
this  side." 

"  Breaking  your  horse  in  to  rough  riding,  eh  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Ferris,  touching  a  neighbor  with  his  elbow. 

Gilbert  smiled  good-humoredly,  but  said  nothing,  and  a 
little  laugh  went  around  the  circle. 


1  THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT. 

Mr.  Fortune  seemed  to  understand  the  matter  in  a  Hash. 
He  looked  at  the  brown,  shaggy-maned  anhnal,  standing 
behind  its  owner,  with  its  head  down,  and  said,  in  a  low, 
sharp  tone :  "  I  see  —  where  did  you  get  him  ?  '* 

Gilbert  returned  the  speaker's  gaze  a  moment  before 
lie  answered.     "  From  a  drover,"  he  then  said. 

"  By  the  Lord ! "  ejaculated  Mr.  Barton,  who  had  again 
conspicuously  displayed  his  watch,  "  it 's  over  half-past  one. 
Look  out  for  the  hounds,  —  we  must  start,  if  we  mean  to* 
do  any  riding  this  day  1 " 

The  owners  of  tlie  hounds  picked  out  their  several  ani- 
mals and  dragged  them  aside,  in  which  operation  thej 
were  uproariously  assisted  by  the  boys.  The  chase  it 
Kennett,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  but  a  very  faint  shadow 
of  the  old  English  pastime.  It  had  been  kept  up,  in  the 
neighborhood,  from  the  force  of  habit  in  the  Colonial 
times,  and  under  the  depression  which  the  strong  Quaker 
element  among  the  people  exercised  upon  all  sports  and 
recreaiiohs.  The  breed  of  hounds,  not  being  restricted  to 
close  communion,  had  considerably  degenerated,  and  few, 
even  of  the  richer  farmers,  could  afford  to  keep  thorough- 
bred hunters  for  this  exclusive  object.  Consequently  all  the 
features  of  the  pastime  had  become  rude  and  imperfect, 
and,  although  very  respectable  gentlemen  still  gave  it  their 
coimtenance,  there  was  a  growing  suspicion  that  it  was  a 
questionable,  if  not  demoralizing  diversion.  It  would  be 
more  agreeable  if  we  could  invest  the  present  occasion  with 
a  little  more  pomp  and  dignity  ;  but  we  must  describe  the 
event  precisely  as  it  occurred. 

The  first  to  greet  Gilbert  were  his  old  friends,  Joe  and 
Jake  Fairthorn.  These  boys  loudly  lamented  that  their 
ftaher  had  denied  them  the  loan  of  his  old  gray  mare, 
Bonnie;  they  could  ride  double  on  a  gallop,  they  said; 
<nd  would  n't  Gilbert  take  them  along,  one  before  and  one 
behind  him  ?     But  he  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  we  've  got  Watch,  anyhow,"  said  Joe,  who  theTO 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  9 

upon  began  whispering  very  earnestly  to  Jake,  as  th« 
Jatter  seized  the  big  family  bull-dog  by  the  collar.  Gil- 
bert foreboded  mischief,  and  kept  Iiis  eye  upon  the 
pair. 

A  scuffle  was  heard  in  the  corn-crib,  into  which  Giles 
had  descended.  The  boys  shuddered  and  chuckled  in  a 
state  of  delicious  fear,  which  changed  into  a  loud  shout  of 
triumph,  as  the  soldier  again  made  his  appearance  at  the 
door,  with  the  fox  in  his  arms,  and  a  fearless  hand  around 
its  muzzle. 

"  By  George !  what  a  fine  brush ! "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Ferris. 

A  sneer,  quickly  disguised  in  a  grin,  ran  over  Fortune's 
face.  The  hounds  howled  and  tugged ;  Giles  stepped 
rapidly  across  the  open  space  where  the  knoll  sloped 
down  to  tbe  meadow.  It  was  a  moment  of  intense  expec- 
tation. 

Just  then,  Joe  and  Jake  Fairthorn  let  go  their  hold  on 
the  bull-dog's  collar ;  but  Gilbert  Potter  caught  the  animal 
at  the  second  bound.  The  boys  darted  behind  the  corn- 
crib,  scared  less  by  Gilbert's  brandished  whip  than  by  the 
wrath  and  astonishment  in  Mr.  Barton's  face. 

"  Cast  him  off,  Giles !"  the  latter  cried. 

The  fox,  placed  upon  the  ground,  shot  down  the  slope 
and  thro  igh  the  fence  into  the  meadow.  Pausing  then, 
as  if  first  to  assure  himself  of  his  liberty,  he  took  a  quick, 
keen  survey  of  the  ground  before  him,  and  then  started  off 
towards  the  left. 

"  He  's  making  for  the  rocks  1 "  cried  Mr.  Ferris ;  to 
which  the  stranger,  who  was  now  watching  the  animal  with 
aharp  interest,  abruptly  answered,  "  Hold  your  tongue ! " 

Within  a  hundred  yards  the  fox  turned  to  the  right,  and 
now,  having  apparently  made  up  his  mind  to  the  course, 
struck  away  in  a  steady  but  not  hurried  trot  In  a  minute 
he  had  reached  the  outlying  *rees  of  the  Umber  along  the 
creek. 


10  THE  STORY  OF  KENNlfiTT. 

"  He  *s  a  cool  one,  he  is !  "  remarked  Giles,  admiringly 

By  this  time  he  was  hidden  by  the  barn  from  the  sight 
of  the  hounds,  and  they  were  let  loose.  AVhile  they  darted 
about  in  eager  quest  of  the  scent,  the  hunters  moimted  in 
base.  Presently  an  old  dog  gave  tongue  like  a  trumpet, 
tlie  pack  closed,  and  the  horsemen  followed.  The  boys  kept 
pace  with  them  over  the  meadow,  Joe  and  Jake  taking  the 
lead,  until  the  creek  abruptly  stopped  their  race,  when 
thev  sat  down  upon  the  bank  and  cried  bitterly,  as  the  last 
of  the  hunters  disappeared  through  the  thickets  on  the 
further  side. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  high  picket-fence  confronted 
the  riders.  !Mr.  Ferris,  with  a  look  of  dismay,  dismounted. 
Fortune,  Barton,  and  Gilbert  Potter  each  threw  off  a 
heavy  "rider,"  and  leaped  their  horses  over  the  rails. 
The  others  followed  tlirough  the  gaps  thus  made,  and  all 
swept  across  the  field  at  full  speed,  guided  by  the  ring- 
ing cry  of  the  hounds. 

When  they  reached  the  Wilmington  road,  the  cry  swerved 
again  to  the  left,  and  most  of  the  hunters,  with  Barton  at 
their  head,  took  the  highway  in  order  to  reach  the  cross- 
road to  New-Garden  more  conveniently.  Gilbert  and 
Fortune  alone  sprang  into  the  opposite  field,  and  kept  a 
straight  southwestern  course  for  the  other  branch  of  Red- 
ley  Creek.  The  field  was  divided  by  a  stout  thorn-hedge 
from  the  one  beyond  it,  and  the  two  horsemen,  careering 
neck  and  neck,  glanced  at  each  other  curiously  as  they 
approached  this  barrier.  Their  respective  animals  were 
transformed;  the  unkempt  manes  were  curried  by  the 
wind,  as  they  flew  ;  their  sleepy  eyes  were  full  of  fire,  and 
the  splendid  muscles,  aroused  to  complete  action,  marked 
their  hides  with  lines  of  beauty.  There  was  no  wavering 
in  cither ;  side  by  side  they  hung  in  flight  above  the  hedge, 
dnd  side  by  side  struck  the  clean  turf  beyond. 

Then  Fortune  turned  his  head,  nodded  approvingly  to 
Gilbert,  and  muttered  to  himself:  "  He  's  a  gallant  felloir, 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  11 

—  Ill  not  rob  him  of  the  brush."  But  he  laughed  a  short, 
ihrill,  wicked  laugh  the  next  moment. 

Before  they  reached  tlie  creek,  the  cry  of  the  hounds 
ceased.     They  halted  a  moment  on  the  bank,  irresolute. 

"  He  must  have  gone  down  towards  the  snufr-mill,"  said 
Gilbert,  and  was  about  to  change  his  course. 

"  Stop,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  if  he  has,  we  've  lost  him  any 
way.     Hark !  hurrah  ! " 

A  deep  bay  rang  from  the  westward,  through  the  Ibrest 
Gilbert  shouted:  "The  lime-quarry!"  and  dashed  across 
the  stream.  A  lane  was  soon  reached,  and  as  the  valley 
opened,  they  saw  the  Avhole  pack  heading  around  the  yel- 
low mounds  of  earth  which  marked  the  locality  of  the 
quarry.  At  the  same  instant  some  one  shouted  in  the  rear, 
and  they  saw  Mr.  Alfred  Barton,  thundering  after,  and  ap- 
parently bent  on  diminishing  the  distance  between  them. 

A  glance  was  sufficient  to  show  that  the  fox  had  not 
taken  refuge  in  the  quarry,  but  was  making  a  straight 
course  up  the  centre  of  the  valley.  Here  it  was  not  so 
easy  to  follow.  The  fertile  floor  of  Tuffkenamon,  stripped 
of  woods,  was  crossed  by  lines  of  compact  hedge,  and, 
moreover,  the  himtsmen  were  not  free  to  tear  and  trample 
the  springing  wheat  of  the  thrifty  Quaker  farmers.  Nev- 
ertheless, one  familiar  with  the  ground  could  take  advan- 
tage of  a  gap  here  and  there,  choose  tlie  connecting  pas- 
ture-fields, and  favor  his  course  with  a  bit  of  road,  when 
the  chase  swerved  towards  either  side  of  the  valley.  Gil- 
bert Potter  soon  took  the  lead,  closely  followed  by  For- 
time.  Mr.  Barton  was  perhaps  better  mounted  than  either, 
but  both  horse  and  rider  were  heavier,  and  lost  in  the 
moist  fields,  while  they  gained  rapidly  where  the  turf  was 
firm. 

After  a  mile  and  a  half  of  rather  toilsome  riding,  all 
three  were  nearly  abreast  The  old  tavern  of  the  Ham- 
mer and  Trowel  was  visible,  at  the  foot  of  the  northern 
Wl ;  the  hounds,  in  front,  bayed  in  a  straight  line  towards 


19  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Avondale  Woods,  —  but  a  long  slip  of  undrained  Ixtg  mad« 
its  appearance.  Neither  gentleman  spoke,  for  each  was 
silently  tasking  his  wits  how  to  accomplish  the  passage 
most  rapidly.  The  horses  began  to  sink  into  the  oozy 
soil ;  only  a  very  practised  eye  could  tell  where  the  sur- 
face was  firmest,  and  even  this  knowledge  was  but  slight 
advantage. 

Nimbly  as  a  cat  Gilbert  sprang  from  the  saddle,  still 
holding  the  pummel  in  his  right  hand,  touched  his  horse's 
flank  with  the  whip,  and  bounded  from  one  tussock  to 
another.  The  sagacious  animal  seemed  to  understand  and 
assist  his  manoeuvre.  Hardly  had  he  gained  firm  ground 
than  he  was  in  his  seat  again,  while  Mr.  Barton  was  still 
plunging  in  the  middle  of  the  bog. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  road,  Gilbert  shrewdly 
guessed  where  the  chase  would  tenninate.  The  idlers  on 
the  tavern-porch  cheered  him  as  he  swept  around  the 
comer ;  the  level  highway  rang  to  the  galloping  hoofs  of 
his  steed,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  he  had  passed  the  long 
and  lofty  oak  woods  of  Avondale.  At  the  same  moment, 
fox  and  hounds  broke  into  full  view,  sweeping  up  the 
meadow  on  his  left.  The  animal  made  a  last  desperate 
effort  to  gain  a  lair  among  the  bushes  and  loose  stones  on 
the  northern  hill;  but  the  hunter  was  there  before  him, 
the  hounds  were  within  reach,  and  one  faltering  moment 
decided  his  fate. 

Gilbert  sprang  down  among  the  frantic  dogs,  and  saved 
the  brush  from  the  rapid  dismemberment  which  had  al- 
ready befallen  its  owner.  Even  then,  he  could  only  as- 
sure its  possession  by  sticking  it  into  his  hat  and  remount- 
ing his  horse.  When  he  looked  around,  no  one  was  in 
sight,  but  the  noise  of  hoofs  was  heard  crashing  through 
the  wood. 

Mr.  Ferris,  with  some  dozen  others,  either  anxious  to 
spare  their  horses  or  too  timid  to  t<ake  the  hedges  in  the 
valley,  had  kept  the  cross-road  to  New-Garden,  whince  s 


TR»  STOUY    OF   KENNKTT.  18 

lane  along  the  top  of  the  southern  hill  led  them  into  die 
Avondale  Woods.  They  soon  emerged,  shouting  and  yellf 
ing,  upon  the  meadow. 

The  chase  was  uj  ;  and  Gilbert  Potter,  on  his  "  plougb- 
borse,"  was  the  only  huntsman  in  at  the  death. 


14"  '  THE   STORY    OF    KENNETT. 


CHAPTER  IL 

WHO  SHALL  HAVE  THE  BRUSH? 

Mr.  Barton  and  Fortune,  who  seemed  to  have  become 
wonderfully  intimate  during  the  half  hour  in  which  they 
bad  ridden  together,  arrived  at  the  same  time.  The  hunt- 
ers, of  whom  a  dozen  were  now  assembled  (some  five  or 
six  inferior  horses  being  still  a  mile  in  the  rear),  were  all 
astounded,  and  some  of  them  highly  vexed,  at  the  result 
of  the  chase.  Gilbert's  friends  crowded  about  him,  asking 
questions  as  to  the  course  he  had  taken,  and  examining  the 
horse,  which  had  maliciously  resumed  its  sleepy  look,  and 
stood  with  drooping  head.  The  others  had  not  sufficient 
tact  to  disguise  their  ill-humor,  for  they  belonged  to  that 
class  which,  in  all  countries,  possesses  the  least  refinement 
—  the  imcultivated  rich. 

"  The  hunt  started  well,  but  it 's  a  poor  finish,"  said  one 
of  these. 

"  ^ever  mind  ! "  Mr.  Ferris  remarked  ;  "  such  things 
come  by  chance." 

These  words  struck  the  company  to  silence.  A  shock, 
felt  rather  than  perceived,  fell  upon  them,  and  they  looked 
at  each  other  with  an  expression  of  pain  and  embarrass- 
ment. Gilbert's  face  faded  to  a  sallow  paleness,  and  his 
eyes  were  fastened  upon  those  of  the  speaker  with  a  fierce 
and  dangerous  intensity.  Mr.  Ferris  colored,  turned  away, 
and  called  to  his  hounds. 

Fortime  was  too  sharp  an  observer  not  to  remark  the 
disturbance.  He  cried  out,  and  his  words  produced  an  in- 
stant, general  sense  of  relief:  — 

"  It 's  been  a  fine  run,  friends,  and  we  can't  do  beltel 


tHE  STORY   OF  KENNETt.  Ifi 

than  ride  back  to  the  Hammer  and  Trowel,  and  take  a 
'smaller '  —  or  a  '  bigger '  for  that  matter  —  at  my  expense. 
You  must  let  me  pay  my  footing  now,  for  I  hope  to  ride 
with  you  many  a  time  to  come.  Faith !  If  1  don't  happen 
to  buy  that  place  down  by  the  Rising  Sun,  I  '11  try  to  find 
another,  somewhere  about  New  London  or  Westgrove,  so 
that  we  can  be  nearer  neighbors." 

With  that  he  grinned,  rather  than  smiled ;  but  although 
his  manner  would  have  struck  a  cool  observer  as  being 
mocking  instead  of  cordial,  the  invitjition  was  accepted  with 
great  show  of  satisfaction,  and  the  horsemen  fell  into  pairs, 
forming  a  picturesque  cavalcade  as  they  passed  under  the 
tall,  leafless  oaks. 

Gilbert  Potter  speedily  recovered  his  self-possession,  but 
his  face  was  stern  and  his  manner  abstracted.  Even  the 
marked  and  careful  kindness  of  his  friends  seemed  secretly 
to  annoy  him,  for  it  constantly  suggested  the  something  by 
which  it  had  been  prompted.  Mr.  Alfred  Barton,  how- 
ever, whether  under  the  influence  of  Fortune's  friendship, 
or  from  a  late  suspicion  of  his  duties  as  host  of  the  day, 
not  unkindly  complimented  the  young  man,  and  insisted 
on  filling  his  glass.  Gilbert  could  do  no  less  than  courte- 
ously accept  the  attention,  but  he  shortly  afterwards  stole 
away  from  the  noisy  company,  moimted  his  horse,  and  rode 
slowly  towards  Kennett  Square. 

As  he  thus  rides,  with  his  eyes  abstractedly  fixed  before 
him,  we  will  take  the  opportunity  to  observe  him  more 
closely.  Slightly  under-sized,  compactly  built,  and  with 
strongly-marked  features,  his  twenty-four  yeurs  have  the 
effect  of  thirty.  His  short  jacket  and  knee-breeches  of 
gray  velveteen  cover  a  chest  broad  rather  than  deep,  and 
reveal  the  fine,  narrow  loins  and  nuiscular  thighs  of  a 
frame  matured  and  hardened  by  labor.  His  hands,  also, 
are  hard  and  strong,  but  not  ungraceful  in  form.  His 
neck,  not  too  short,  is  firmly  planted,  and  the  carriage  of 
his  head  indicates  patience  and  energy.    Thick,  dark  hail 


16  THE  STOKY   OF  KENNETT. 

enframes  his  square  forehead,  and  straight,  somewhat  heavj 
brows.  His  eyes  of  soft  dark-gray,  are  large,  clear,  and 
steady,  and  only  change  their  expression  under  strong  ex- 
citement. His  nose  is  straight  and  short,  his  mouth  a  little 
too  wide  for  beauty,  and  less  firm  now  than  it  will  be  ten 
years  hence,  when  the  yearning  tenderness  shall  have  van- 
ished from  the  corners  of  the  lips  ;  and  the  chin,  in  its 
broad  curve,  harmonizes  with  the  square  lines  of  the  brow. 
Evidently  a  man  whose  youth  has  not  been  a  holiday ;  who 
is  reticent  rather  than  demonstrative ;  who  will  be  strong 
in  his  loves  and  long  in  his  hates  ;  and,  without  being  of  a 
despondent  nature,  can  never  become  heartily  sanguine. 

The  spring-day  was  raw  and  overcast,  as  it  drew  towards 
its  close,  and  the  rider's  musings  seemed  to  accord  with 
the  change  in  the  sky.  His  face  expressed  a  singular  mix- 
ture of  impatience,  determined  will,  and  unsatisfied  desire 
But  where  most  other  men  would  have  sighed,  or  given 
way  to  some  involuntary  exclamation,  he  merely  set  his 
teeth,  and  tightened  the  gi'asp  on  his  whip-handle. 

He  was  not  destined,  however,  to  a  solitary  journey. 
Scarcely  had  he  made  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  when,  on 
approaching  the  junction  of  a  wood-road  which  descended 
to  the  highway  from  a  shallow  little  glen  on  the  north,  the 
sound  of  hoofs  and  voices  met  his  ears.  Two  female  fig- 
ures appeared,  slowly  guiding  their  horses  down  the  rough 
road.  One,  from  her  closely-fitting  riding-habit  of  drab 
cloth,  might  have  been  a  Quakeress,  but  for  the  feather  (of 
the  same  sober  color)  in  her  beaver  hat,  and  the  rosette  o1 
dark  red  ribbon  at  her  throat.  The  other,  in  bluish-gray, 
with  a  black  beaver  and  no  feather,  rode  a  heavy  old  horse 
with  a  blind  halter  on  his  head,  and  held  the  stout  leathern 
reins  with  a  hand  covered  with  a  blue  woollen  mitten.  She 
rode  in  advance,  paying  little  heed  to  her  seat,  but  rather 
twisting  herself  out  of  shape  in  the  saddle  in  order  to  chat- 
ter to  her  companictn  in  the  rear. 

"  Do  look  where  you  are  going,  SaJly  1 "  cried  the  lattei 


THE  STORY  OK  KENNETT.  tt 

Rs  the  blinded  horse  turned  aside  from  the  road  to  drink 
at  a  little  brook  that  oozed  forth  from  under  the  dead 
leaves. 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  other  lady  whirled  around  with  a 
half-jump,  and  caught  sight  of  Gilbert  Potter  and  of  her 
horse's  head  at  the  same  instant 

"Whoa  there,  Bonnie!"  she  cried.  "Why,  Gilbert, 
where  did  you  come  from  ?  Hold  up  your  head,  I  say . 
Martha,  here  's  Gilbert,  with  a  brush  in  his  hat !  Don't 
be  afraid,  you  beast ;  did  you  never  smell  a  fox  ?  Here, 
ride  in  between,  Gilbert,  and  tell  us  all  about  it !  No,  not 
on  that  side,  Martha  ;  you  can  manage  a  horse  better  than 
lean!" 

In  her  eflforts  to  arrange  the  order  of  march,  she  drove 
her  horse's  head  into  Gilbert's  back,  and  came  near  losing 
her  balance.  With  amused  screams,  and  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, and  light,  rattling  exclamations,  she  finally  succeeded 
in  placing  herself  at  his  left  hand,  while  her  adroit  and 
self-possessed  companion  quietly  rode  up  to  his  right 
Then,  dropping  the  reins  on  their  horses'  necks,  the  two 
ladies  resigned  themselves  to  conversation,  as  the  three 
slowly  jogged  homewards  abreast 

"  Now,  Gilbert !  "  exclaimed  ISIiss  Sally  Fairthom,  after 
waiting  a  moment  for  him  to  speak  ;  "did  you  really  earn 
the  brush,  or  beg  it  from  one  of  them,  on  the  way  home  ? ' 

"  Begging,  you  know,  is  my  usual  habit,"  he  answered, 
mockingly. 

"  I  know  you  're  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  when  you  've  a 
mind  to  be  so.    There!" 

Gilbert  was  accustomed  to  the  rattling  tongue  of  his 
left-hand  neighbor,  and  generally  returned  her  as  good  aa 
she  gave.  To-day,  however,  he  was  in  no  mood  for  repar- 
tee- He  drew  down  his  brows  and  made  no  answer  to  hei 
charge. 

« Where  was  the  fox  earthed  ? "  asked  the  other  lady; 
§&ia  a  rapid  glance  at  his  &x;e. 
i 


18  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Martha  Deane's  voice  was  of  that  quality  which  compels 
an  answer,  and  a  courteous  answer,  from  the  surliest  of 
mankind.  It  was  not  loud,  it  could  scarcely  be  called 
musical ;  but  every  tone  seemed  to  exhale  freshness  as  of 
dew,  and  brightness  as  of  morning.  It  was  pure,  slightly 
resonant ;  and  all  the  accumulated  sorrows  of  life  could 
not  have  veiled  its  inherent  gladness.  It  could  never  grow 
harsh,  never  be  worn  thin,  or  sound  husky  from  weariness ; 
it^  first  characteristic  would  always  be  youth,  and  the  joy 
of  youth,  though  it  came  from  the  lips  of  age. 

Doubtless  Gilbert  Potter  did  not  analyze  the  cham> 
which  it  exercised  upon  him ;  it  was  enough  that  he  felt 
and  submitted  to  it  A  few  quiet  remarks  sufficed  to  draw 
from  him  the  story  of  the  chase,  in  all  its  particulars,  and 
the  lively  interest  in  Martha  Deane's  face,  the  boisterous 
glee  of  Sally  Fairthom,  with  his  own  lurking  sense  of  tri- 
umph, soon  swept  every  gloomy  line  from  his  visage.  His 
mouth  relaxed  from  its  set  compression,  and  wore  a  win- 
ning sweetness ;  his  eyes  shone  softly-bright,  and  a  nimble 
spirit  of  gayety  gave  grace  to  his  movements. 

""Faiily  won,  I  must  say  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Sally  Fair- 
thorn,  when  the  narrative  was  finished.  "  And  now,  Gil- 
bert, the  brush  ?  " 

«  The  brush  ?  " 

"  Who  's  to  have  it,  I  mean.  Did  you  never  get  one  be» 
fore,  as  you  don't  seem  to  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  he,  in  an  indifferent  tone ;  "  it 
may  be  had  for  the  asking." 

"  Then  it 's  mine !  "  cried  Sally,  urging  her  heavy  horse 
against  him  and  making  a  clutch  at  his  cap.  But  he  leaned 
as  suddenly  away,  and  shot  a  length  ahead,  out  of  her  reach. 
Miss  Deane's  horse,  a  light,  spirited  animal,  kept  pace  with 
his. 

"ISIartha!"  cried  the  disappointed  damsel,  "Martha! 
one  of  us  must  have  it ;  ask  him,  you !  " 

"  No,"  answered  Martha,  with  her  clear  blue  eyes  fixed 
on  Gilbert's  face,  "  I  will  not  ask." 


THE  STORY    OF    KLNNETT.  It 

He  returned  her  gaze,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  say 
•Will  you  take  it,  knowing  what  the  acceptance  implies?' 

She  read  the  question  correctly  ;  but  of  this  he  was  not 
sure.  Neither,  if  it  were  so,  could  he  trust  himself  to 
interpret  the  answer.  Sally  had  already  resumed  her 
place  on  his  left,  and  he  saw  that  the  mock  strife  would  be 
instantly  renewed.  With  a  movement  so  sudden  as  to 
appear  almost  ungracious,  he  snatched  the  brush  from  his 
cap  and  extended  it  to  Martha  Deane,  without  saying  a 
word 

If  she  hesitated,  it  was  at  least  no  longer  than  would  be 
required  in  order  to  understand  the  action.  Gilbert  might 
e'ther  so  interpret  it,  or  suspect  that  she  had  understood 
the  condition  in  his  mind,  and  meant  to  signify  the  rejec- 
tion thereof  The  language  of  gestures  is  wonderfully 
rapid,  and  all  that  could  be  said  by  either,  in  this  way,  waa 
over,  and  the  brush  in  Martha  Deane's  hand,  b^^fore  Sally 
Fairthorn  became  aware  of  the  transfer. 

"  Well-done,  Martha ! "  she  exclaimed :  "  Don't  let  him 
have  it  again !  Do  you  know  to  whom  he  would  have 
given  it :  an  A.  and  a  W.,  with  the  look  of  an  X,  —  so  I " 

Thereupon  Sally  pulled  off  her  mittens  and  crossed  her 
forefingers,  an  action  which  her  companions  understood  — ^, 
in  combination  with  the  mysterious  initials  —  to  be  the 
rude,  primitive  symbol  of  a  squint. 

Gilbert  looked  annoyed,  but  before  he  could  reply,  Sally 
let  go  the  rein  in  order  to  put  on  her  mittens,  and  the 
blinded  mare  quickly  dropping  her  head,  the  rein  slipped 
instantly  to  the  animal's  ears.  The  latter  perceived  her 
advantage,  and  began  snuffing  along  the  edges  of  the  road 
in  a  deliberate  search  for  spring  grass.  In  vain  Sally 
called  and  kicked;  the  mare  provokingly  preserved  her 
independence.  Finally,  a  piteous  appeal  to  Gilbert,  who 
had  pretended  not  to  notice  the  dilemma,  and  was  a  hun- 
dred yards  in  advance,  was  Sally's  only  resource.  The  two 
halted  and  enjoyed  her  comical  helplessness. 


20  THE  STORY   OL    KENNETT. 

**  That 's  enough,  Gilbert,"  said  Martha  Deane,  presently, 
•*  go  now  and  pick  up  the  rein." 

He  rode  back,  picked  it  up,  and  handed  it  to  Sally  with- 
out speaking. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  demure  change  of 
tone,  as  they  rode  on  to  where  Miss  Deane  was  waiting, 
"come  and  take  supper  with  us,  at  home.  Martha  ha? 
promised.     You  've  hardly  been  to  see  us  in  a  month." 

"  You  know  how  much  I  have  to  do,  Sally,"  he  answered 
'It  is  n't  only  that,  to-day  being  a  Saturday ;  but  I  've 
promised  mother  to  be  at  home  by  dark,  and  fetch  a  quar- 
ter of  tea  from  the  store." 

"  When  you  've  once  promised,  I  know,  oxen  could  n't 
pull  you  the  other  way." 

"  I  don't  often  see  your  mother,  Gilbert,"  said  Martha 
Deane  ;  "  she  is  well  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Martha,  —  too  well,  and  yet  not  weD 
enough." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered,  "  that  she  does  more  than  she 
has  strength  to  do.  If  she  had  less  she  would  be  forced 
to  undertake  less  ;  if  she  had  more,  she  would  be  equal  to 
her  undertaking." 

*'  I  understand  you  now.  But  you  should  not  allow  her 
to  go  on  in  that  way  ;  you  should  " 

What  Miss  Deane  would  have  said  must  remain  unwrit- 
ten. Gilbert's  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  held  her  own ; 
perhaps  a  little  more  color  came  into  her  face,  but  she  did 
not  show  the  slightest  embarrassment.  A  keen  observer 
might  have  supposed  that  either  a  bioken  or  an  imperfect 
relation  existed  between  the  two,  which  the  gentleman  was 
trying  to  restore  or  complete  without  the  aid  of  words ; 
and  that,  furthermore,  while  the  lady  was  the  more  skilful 
in  the  use  of  that  silent  language,  neither  rightly  under- 
stood the  other. 

By  this  time  they  were  ascending  the  hill  from  Redley 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  fl 

Creek  to  Kennett  .Square.  Martha  Deane  had  thus  fat 
carried  the  brush  carelessly  in  her  right  hand ;  she  now 
rolled  it  into  a  coil  and  thrust  it  into  a  large  velvet  reticule 
which  hung  from  the  pommel  of  her  saddle.  A  few  dull 
orange  streaks  in  the  overcast  sky,  behind  them,  denoted 
suoset,  and  a  raw,  gloomy  twilight  crept  up  from  the  east 

"  You  '11  not  go  with  us  ?  "  Sally  asked  again,  as  they 
reached  the  corner,  and  the  loungers  on  the  porch  of  the 
Unicom  Tavern  beyond,  perceiving  Gilbert,  sprang  from 
their  seats  to  ask  for  news  of  the  chase. 

"  Sally,  I  cannot !  "  he  answered.     "  Good-night !  " 

Joe  and  Jake  Fairthorn  rushed  up  with  a  whoop,  and 
before  Gilbert  could  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  tavern- 
idlers,  the  former  sat  behind  Sally,  on  the  old  mare,  with 
his  face  to  her  tail,  while  Jake,  prevented  by  Miss  Deane's 
riding-whip  from  attempting  the  same  performance,  capered 
behind  the  horses  and  kept  up  their  spirits  by  flinging  hand- 
fuls  of  sand. 

Gilbert  found  another  group  in  "  the  store  "  —  farmers 
or  their  sons  who  had  come  in  for  a  supply  of  groceries,  or 
the  weekly  mail,  and  who  sat  in  a  sweltering  atmosphere 
around  the  roaring  stove.  They,  too,  had  heard  of  the 
chase,  and  he  was  obliged  to  give  them  as  many  details  as 
possible  while  his  quarter  of  tea  was  being  weighed,  after 
which  he  left  them  to  supply  the  story  from  the  narrative 
of  Mr.  Joel  Ferris,  who,  a  new-comer  announced,  had  just 
alighted  at  the  Unicom,  a  little  dmnk,  and  in  a  very  bad 
humor. 

".  Where  's  Barton  ? "  Gilbert  heard  some  one  ask  of 
Ferris,  as  he  mounted. 

"  In  his  skin ! "  was  the  answer,  "  unless  he  's  got  into 
that  fellow  Fortune's.  They  're  as  thick  as  two  pickpock- 
ets!" 

Gilbert  rode  down  the  hill,  and  allowed  his  horse  to  plod 
leisurely  across  the  muddy  level,  regardless  of  the  deepen- 
tng  twilight 


2i  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

He  was  powerfully  moved  by  some  suppressed  emotion 
rhe  muscles  of  his  lips  twitched  convulsively,  and  there 
was  a  hot  surge  and  swell  somewhere  in  his  head,  as  of 
tears  about  to  overrun  their  secret  reservoir.  But  they 
failed  to  surprise  him,  this  time.  As  the  first  drops  fell 
from  his  dark  eyelashes,  he  loosed  the  rein  and  gave  the 
word  to  his  horse.  Over  the  ridge,  along  the  crest,  between 
dusky  thorn-hedges,  he  swept  at  full  gallop,  and  so,  slowly 
sinking  towards  the  fair  valley  which  began  to  twinkle  with 
the  lights  of  scattered  farms  to  the  eastward,  he  soon 
reached  the  last  steep  descent,  and  saw  the  gray  gleam  of 
his  own  barn  below  him. 

By  this  time  his  face  was  sternly  set.  He  clinched  his 
hands,  and  muttered  to  himself — 

"  It  will  almost  kill  me  to  ask,  but  I  must  know,  and  — 
and  she  must  tell." 

It  was  dark  now.  As  he  climbed  again  from  the  bottom 
of  the  hill  towards  the  house,  a  figure  on  the  sunmiit  was 
drawn  indistinctly  against  the  sky,  unconscious  that  it  was 
thus  betrayed.  But  it  vanished  instantly,  and  then  he 
groaned  — 

**  God  help  me  I    I  cannot  atskJ* 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 


CHAPTER  m. 

JIARY    POTTER   AND   HEB   SON. 

WniLB  Gilbert  was  dismounting  at  tlie  gate  leading 
kflto  his  barn-yard,  he  was  suddenly  accosted  by  a  boyisb 
voice :  — 

"  Got  back,  have  you  ?  *' 

This  was  Sam,  the  "  bound-boy,"  —  the  son  of  a  tenant 
on  the  old  Carson  place,  who,  in  consideration  of  three 
months'  schooling  every  winter,  and  a  "freedom  suit"  at 
the  age  of  seventeen,  if  he  desired  then  to  learn  a  trade, 
was  duly  made  over  by  his  father  to  Gilbert  Potter.  His 
position  was  something  between  that  of  a  poor  relation  and 
a  servant.  He  was  one  of  the  family,  eating  at  the  same 
table,  sleeping,  indeed,  (for  economy  of  house-work,)  in  the 
same  bed  with  his  master,  and  privileged  to  feel  his  full 
share  of  interest  in  domestic  matters ;  but  on  the  other 
hand  bound  to  obedience  and  rigid  service. 

"  Feed 's  in  the  trough,"  said  he,  taking  hold  of  the 
bridle.  "  I  '11  fix  him.  Better  go  into  th'  house.  Tea  'a 
wanted." 

Feeling  as  sure  that  all  the  necessary  evening's  work 
was  done  as  if  he  had  performed  it  with  his  own  hands, 
Gilbert  silently  followed  the  boy's  familiar  advice. 

The  house,  built  like  most  other  old  farm-houses  in  that 
part  of  the  county,  of  hornblende  stone,  stood  near  the  bot- 
tom of  a  rounded  knoll,  overhanging  the  deep,  winding 
valley.  It  was  two  stories  in  height,  the  gable  looking  to- 
wards the  road,  and  showing,  just  under  the  broad  double 
chimney,  a  limestone  slab,  upon  which  were  rudely  carved 
the  initials  of  the  builder  and  his  wife,  and   the   date 


it  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

"  1727."  A  low  portico,  overgrown  with  woodbine  and  trum 
pet- flower,  ran  along  the  front  In  the  narrow  flower-bed, 
under  it,  the  crocuses  and  daffodils  were  beginning  to 
thrust  up  their  blunt,  green  points.  A  walk  of  flag-stones 
separated  them  from  the  vegetable  garden,  which  was 
bounded  at  the  bottom  by  a  mill-race,  carrying  half  the 
water  of  the  creek  to  the  saw  and  grist  mill  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road. 

Although  this  road  was  the  principal  thoroughfare  be- 
tween Kennett  Square  and  Wilmington,  the  house  was 
so  screened  from  the  observation  of  travellers,  both  by  the 
barn,  and  by  some  huge,  spreading  apple-trees  which  oc- 
cupied the  space  between  the  garden  and  road,  that  its 
inmates  seemed  to  live  in  absolute  seclusion.  Looking 
from  the  front  door  across  a  narrow  green  meadow,  a 
wooded  hill  completely  shut  out  all  glimpse  of  the  adjoin- 
ing farms ;  M'hile  an  angle  of  the  valley,  to  the  eastward, 
hid  from  sight  the  warm,  fertile  fields  higher  up  the 
stream. 

The  place  seemed  lonelier  than  ever  in  the  gloomy 
March  twilight;  or  was  it  some  other  influence  which 
caused  Gilbert  to  pause  on  the  flagged  walk,  and  stand 
there,  motionless,  looking  down  into  the  meadow  imtil  a 
woman's  shadow  crossing  the  panes,  was  thrown  upon  the 
square  of  lighted  earth  at  his  feet  ?  Then  he  turned  and 
entered  the  kitchen. 

The  cloth  was  spread  and  the  table  set.  A  kettle,  hum* 
raing  on  a  heap  of  fresh  coals,  and  a  squat  little  teapot 
of  blue  china,  were  waiting  anxiously  for  the  brown  paper 
parcel  which  he  placed  upon  the  cloth.  His  mother  was 
waiting  also,  in  a  high  straight-backed  rocking-chair,  with 
her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  You  're  tired  waiting,  mother,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  said,  aa 
he  hung  h's  hat  upon  a  nail  over  the  heavy  oak  mantel- 
piece. 

''No,  not  tired,  Gilbert,  but  it's  himgry  you'U  be.    It 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  Sft 

fnm't  take  long  for  the  tea  to  draw.  Everything  else  liaa 
been  ready  this  half-hour." 

Gilbert  threw  himself  upon  the  settle  under  the  front 
window,  and  mechanically  followed  her  with  his  eyes,  as 
she  carefully  measured  the  precious  herb,  even  stooping 
to  pick  up  a  leaf  or  two  that  had  &llen  from  the  spoon  to 
the  floor. 

The  resemblance  between  mother  and  son  was  very 
striking.  Mary  Potter  had  the  same  square  forehead  and 
level  eyebrows,  but  her  hair  was  darker  than  Gilbert's, 
and  her  eyes  more  deeply  set  The  fire  of  a  lifelong 
pain  smouldered  in  them,  and  the  throes  of  some  never- 
ending  struggle  had  sharpened  every  line  of  cheek  ana 
brow,  and  taught  her  lips  the  close,  hard  compression, 
which  those  of  her  son  were  also  beginning  to  learn.  She 
was  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  but  there  was  even  now 
a  weariness  in  her  motions,  as  if  her  prime  of  strength 
were  already  past  She  wore  a  short  gown  of  brown  flan- 
nel, with  a  plain  linen  stomacher,  and  a  coarse  apron, 
which  she  removed  when  the  supper  had  been  placed  upon 
the  table.  A  simple  cap,  with  a  narrow  frill,  covered  her 
head. 

The  entire  work  of  the  household  devolved  upon  her 
hands  alone.  Gilbert  would  have  cheerfiilly  taken  a  ser- 
vant to  assist  her,  but  this  she  positively  refused,  seem- 
ing to  court  constant  labor,  especially  during  his  absence 
from  the  house.  Only  when  he  was  there  would  she  take 
occasion  to  knit  or  sew.  The  kitchen  was  a  marvel  of 
neatness  and  order.  The  bread-trough  and  dresser-shelves 
were  scoured  almost  to  the  whiteness  of  a  napkin,  and  the 
rows  of  pewter-plates  upon  the  latter  flashed  like  silver 
sconces.  To  Gilbert's  eyes,  indeed,  the  effect  was  some- 
times painful.  He  would  have  been  satisfied  with  less 
laborious  order,  a  less  eager  and  unwearied  thrift.  To  be 
sure,  all  this  was  in  furtherance  of  a  mutual  purpose;  but 
he  mentally  determined  that  when  the  purpose  had  beea 


n  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT, 

fulfilled,  he  would  insist  upon  an  easier  and  more  cheerftil 
arrangement.  The  stern  aspect  of  life  from  which  hif 
nature  craved  escape  rnet  him  oftenest  at  home. 

Sam  entered  the  kitchen  barefooted,  having  left  his 
shoes  at  the  back  door.  The  tea  was  drawn,  and  the  three 
sat  down  to  their  supper  of  bacon,  bread  and  butter,  and 
apple-sauce.  Gilbert  and  his  mother  ate  and  drank  in 
silence,  but  Sam's  curiosity  was  too  lively  to  be  restrained. 

"  I  say,  how  did  Roger  go  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mary  Potter  looked  up,  as  if  expecting  the  question  to 
be  answered,  and  Gilbert  said :  — 

"  He  took  the  lead,  and  kept  it." 

"  0  cracky ! "  exclaimed  the  delighted  Sam. 

"  Then  you  think  it 's  a  good  bargain,  Gilbert.  Was  it 
a  long  chase  ?     Was  he  well  tried  ? " 

"  All  right,  mother.  I  could  sell  him  for  twenty  dollars 
advance  —  even  to  Joel  Ferris,"  he  answered. 

He  then  gave  a  sketch  of  the  afternoon's  adventures,  to 
which  his  mother  listened  with  a  keen,  steady  interest. 
She  compelled  him  to  describe  the  stranger.  Fortune,  as 
minutely  as  possible,  as  if  desirous  of  finding  some  form 
or  event  in  her  own  memory  to  which  he  could  be  at- 
tached ;  but  without  result. 

After  supper  Sam  squatted  upon  a  stool  in  the  corner 
of  the  fireplace,  and  resumed  his  reading  of  "  The  Old 
English  Baron,"  by  the  light  of  the  burning  back-log,  pro- 
nouncing every  word  to  himself  in  something  between  a 
whisper  and  a  whistle.  Gilbert  took  an  account-book,  a 
leaden  inkstand,  and  a  stumpy  pen  from  a  drawer  under 
the  window,  and  calculated  silently  and  somewhat  labori- 
ously. His  mother  produced  a  clocked  stocking  of  blue 
wool,  and  proceeded  to  turn  the  heel. 

In  half  an  hour's  time,  however,  Sam's  whispering  ceased ; 
his  head  nodded  violently,  and  the  book  fell  upon  the 
hearth. 

"1  guess  I  'h  go  to  bed,"  he  said  j  and  having  thus  cxm- 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  27 

icientioiisly  announced  his  intention,  he  trotted  up  the 
steep  back -stairs  on  his  hands  and  feet  In  two  minutes 
more,  a  creaking  overhead  announced  that  the  act  was 
accomplished. 

Gilbert  filliped  the  ink  out  of  his  pen  into  the  fire,  laid 
it  in  his  book,  and  turned  away  from  the  table. 

"  Roger  has  bottom,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  he  's  as  strong 
as  a  lion.  He  and  Fox  will  make  a  good  team,  and  the 
roads  will  be  solid  in  three  days,  if  it  don't  rain." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean,"  —  she  commenced. 

"  Yes,  mother.  You  were  not  for  buying  him,  I  know, 
and  you  were  right,  inasmuch  as  there  is  always  some  risk. 
But  it  will  make  a  difference  of  two  barrels  a  load,  besides 
having  a  horse  at  home.  If  I  plough  both  for  corn  and 
oats  next  week,  —  and  it  will  be  all  the  better  for  corn,  as 
the  field  next  to  Carson's  is  heavy,  —  I  can  begin  hauling 
the  week  after,  and  we  '11  have  the  interest  by  the  first  of 
April,  without  borrowing  a  penny." 

"  That  would  be  good,  —  very  good,  indeed,"  said  she, 
dropping  her  knitting,  and  hesitating  a  moment  before  she 
continued  ;  "  only  —  only,  Gilbert,  I  did  n't  expect  you 
would  be  going  so  soon." 

"  The  sooner  I  begin,  mother,  the  sooner  I  shall  finish." 

**I  know  that,  Gilbert  —  I  know  that;  but  I'm  always 
looking  forward  to  the  time  when  you  won't  be  bound 
to  go  at  all.  Not  that  Sam  and  I  can't  manage  awhile  — 
but  if  the  money  was  paid  once  "  — 

"  There  's  less  than  six  hundred  now,  altogether.  It 's 
a  good  deal  to  scrape  together  in  a  year's  tinie,  but  if  it 
can  be  done  I  will  do  it  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  let  some 
help  come  into  the  house.  I  'm  as  anxious  as  you  can  be, 
mother.  I  'm  not  of  a  roving  disposition,  that  you  know  ; 
yet  it  is  n't  pleasant  to  me  to  see  you  slave  as  you  do  and 
for  that  very  reason,  it 's  a  comfort  when  I  'm  away,  thaf 
you  've  one  less  to  work  for." 

He  spoke  earnestly,  turning  his  face  full  upon  her. 


28  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

"  We  've  talked  this  over,  often  and  often,  but  you  nevei 
can  mak«  me  see  it  in  your  •  way,"  he  then  added,  in  a 
gentler  tone. 

"Ay,  Gilbert,"  she  replied,  somewhat  bitterly,  "IVe 
had  my  thoughts.  Maybe  they  were  too  fast ;  it  seems 
80.  I  meant,  and  mean,  to  make  a  good  home  for  you, 
and  I  'm  happiest  when  I  can  do  the  most  towards  it.  I 
want  you  to  hold  up  your  head  and  be  beholden  to  no  man. 
There  are  theui  in  the  neighborhood  that  were  bound  out 
as  boys,  and  are  now  as  good  as  the  best." 

"  But  they  are  not,"  —  burst  from  his  lips,  as  the  thought 
on  which  he  so  gloomily  brooded  sprang  to  the  surface  and 
took  him  by  surprise.  He  checked  his  words  by  a  power- 
ful effort,  and  the  blood  forsook  his  face.  Mary  Potter 
placed  her  hand  on  her  heart,  and  seemed  to  gasp  for 
breath. 

Gilbert  could  not  bear  to  look  upon  her  face.  He  turned 
ftway,  placed  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the.  unfin- 
ished sentence  might  be  otherwise  completed.  He  knew 
that  his  thought  was  betrayed,  and  his  heart  was  suddenly 
filled  with  a  tun)ult  of  shame,  pity,  and  fear. 

For  a  minute  there  was  silence.  Only  the  long  pendu- 
lum, swinging  openly  along  the  farther  wall,  ticked  at  each 
end  of  its  vibration.  Then  Mary  Potter  drew  a  deep, 
weary  breath,  and  spoke.  Her  voice  was  hollow  and 
strange,  and  each  word  came  as  by  a  separate  muscidar 
effort 

"  What  are  they  not  ?  What  word  was  on  your  tongue, 
Gilbert?" 

He  could  not  answer.  He  could  only  shake  bis  hem], 
and  bring  forth  a  cowardly,  evasive  word,  —  "  Nothing." 

"  But  there  is  something !  Oh,  I  knew  it  must  come 
some  time!"  she  cried,  rather  to  herself  than  to  him. 
**  Listen  to  me,  Gilbert !  Has  any  one  dared  to  say  to 
your  fece  that  you  are  basely  bom  ?  " 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  if 

He  felt,  now,  that  no  further  evasion  was  possible ;  sbe 
had  put  into  words  the  terrible  question  which  he  could 
not  steel  his  own  heart  to  ask.     Perhaps  it  was  better  so, 

—  better  a  sharp,  intense  pain  than  a  dull  perpetual  ache. 
So  he  answered  honestly  now,  but  still  kept  his  head 
turned  away,  as  if  there  might  be  a  kindness  in  avoiding 
her  gaze. 

**  Not  in  so  many  words,  mother,"  he  said ;  "  but  there 
are  ways,  and  ways  of  saying  a  thing ;  and  the  cruellest 
way  is  that  which  everybody  understands,  and  I  dare  not 
But  I  have  long  known  what  it  meant.  It  is  ten  years, 
mother,  since  I  have  mentioned  the  word  ^father '  in  your 
hearing." 

Mary  Potter  leaned  forward,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  rocked  to  and  fro,  as  if  tortured  with  insupportable 
pain.  She  stifled  her  sobs,  but  the  tears  gushed  forth 
between  her  fingers. 

"O  my  boy,  —  my  boy!"  she  moaned.     "Ten  years.' 

—  and  you  believed  it,  all  that  time  !  " 

He  was  silent.  She  leaned  forward  and  grasped  his 
arm. 

"  Did  you,  —  do  you  believe  it  ?     Speak,  Gilbert  I " 

When  he  did  speak,  his  voice  was  singularly  low  and 
gentle.  "  Never  mind,  mother !  "  was  all  he  could  say. 
His  head  was  still  turned  away  from  her,  but  she  knew 
there  were  tears  on  his  cheeks. 

"  Gilbert  it  is  a  lie ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  startling 
vehemence.  "A  lie,  —  a  lie!  You  are  my  lawful  son, 
bom  in  wedlock !  There  is  no  stain  upon  your  name,  of 
ipy  giving,  and  I  know  there  will  be  none  of  your  own." 

He  turned  towards  her,  his  eyes  shining  and  his  lipi 
parted  in  breathless  joy  and  astonishment 

**  Is  it  —  is  it  true  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  True  as  there  is  a  God  in  Heaven." 

^'Then,  mother,  give  me  my  name!  Now  I  ask  yoi^ 
fat  the  first  time,  who  wafc  my  father  ?  " 


^  THE  STORy   OF   KENNETT. 

She  virrunor  her  hands  and  moaned.  The  si^ht  of  her 
son's  eager,  expectant  face,  touched  with  a  light  which  she 
had  never  before  seen  upon  it,  seemed  to  give  her  another 
and  a  different  pang. 

"  That,  too  ! "     She  murmured  to  herself. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  then  said,  "  have  I  always  been  a  faithful 
mother  to  you?  Have  I  been  true  and  honest  in  word  and 
deed  ?  Have  I  done  my  best  to  help  you  in  all  right  ways, 
—  to  make  you  comfortable,  to  spare  you  trouble  ?  Have 
I  ever,  —  I  '11  not  say  acted,  for  nobody's  judgment  is  per- 
fect,—  but  tried  to  act  otherwise  than  as  I  thought  it  might 
be  for  your  good  ?  " 

"You  have  done  all  that  you  could  say,  and  more, 
mother." 

"  Then,  my  boy,  is  it  too  much  for  me  to  ask  that  you 
should  believe  my  word,  —  that  you  should  let  it  stand  for 
the  truth,  without  my  giving  proofs  and  testimonies  ?  Foi, 
Gilbert,  that  I  must  ask  of  you,  hard  as  it  may  seem.  If 
you  will  only  be  content  with  the  knowledge  —  but  then, 
you  have  felt  the  shame  all  this  while ;  it  was  my  fault, 
mine,  and  I  ought  to  ask  your  forgiveness  "  — 

"  Mother  —  mother  !  "  he  interrupted,  "  don't  talk  that 
way  1  Yes  —  I  believe  you,  without  testimony.  You  never 
said,  or  thought,  an  untruth;  and  your  explanation  Avill 
be  enough  not  only  for  me,  but  for  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, if  all  witnesses  are  dead  or  gone  away.  If  you  knew 
of  the  shameful  report,  why  didn't  you  deny  it  at  once? 
Wliy  let  it  spread  and  be  believed  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  moaned  again,  "  if  my  tongue  was  not  tied  — 
iJ  my  tongue  was  not  tied  !  There  was  my  fault,  and  what 
a  punishment !  Never  —  never  was  woman  punished  as 
I  have  been.  Gilbert,  whatever  you  do,  bind  yourself  by 
no  vow,  except  in  the  sight  of  men  !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  mother,"  said  he. 

"No,  and  I  dare  not  make  myself  understood.  Don*t 
ask  me  anything  more  !    It 's  hard  to  shut  my  mou^h  and 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNEfT.  81 

bear  everything  in  silence,  but  it  cuts  my  very  bcart  in 
twain  to  speak  and  not  tell !  " 

Her  distress  was  so  evident,  that  Gilbert,  perplexed  and 
bewildered  as  her  words  left  him,  felt  that  he  dared  not 
press  her  further.  He  could  not  doubt  the  truth  of  her 
first  assertion ;  but,  alas !  it  availed  only  for  his  own  pri- 
vate consciousness,  —  it  took  no  stain  from  him,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world.  Yet,  now  that  the  painful  theme  had  been 
ofjcned,  —  not  less  painful,  it  seemed,  since  the  suspected 
dishonor  did  not  exist,  —  he  craved  and  decided  to  ask, 
enlightenment  on  one  point. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "I  do  not  want  to 
speak  about  this  thing  again.  I  believe  you,  and  my  great- 
est comfort  in  believing  is  for  your  sake,  not  for  mine.  I 
see,  too,  that  you  are  bound  in  some  way  which  I  do  not 
understand,  so  that  we  cannot  be  cleared  from  the  blame 
that  is  put  upon  us.  I  don't  mind  that  so  much,  either  — 
for  my  own  sake,  and  I  will  not  ask  for  an  explanation, 
since  you  say  you  dare  not  give  it  But  tell  me  one  thing, 
—  will  it  always  be  .so  ?  Are  you  bound  forever,  and  will 
I  never  learn  anything  more  ?  I  can  wait ;  but,  mother, 
you  know  that  these  things  work  in  a  man's  mind,  and 
there  will  come  a  time  when  the  knowledge  of  the  worst 
thing  that  could  be  will  seem  better  than  no  knowledge 
at  all." 

Her  face  brightened  a  little.  "Thank  you,  Gilbert!" 
she  said.  "  Yes ;  there  will  come  a  day  when  you  shall 
know  all ,  —  when  you  and  me  shall  have  justice.  I  do  not 
know  how  soon ;  I  cannot  guess.  In  the  Lord's  good 
time.  I  have  nigh  out-suffered  my  fault,  I  think,  and  the 
reward  cannot  be  far  off.  A  few  weeks,  perhaps,  —  yet, 
maybe,  for  oh,  I  am  not  allowed  even  to  hope  for  it !  — 
maybe  a  few  years.  It  will  all  come  to  the  light,  afler  so 
long  —  so  long  —  an  eternity.     If  I  had  but  known ! " 

"  Come,  we  will  say  no  more  now.  Surely  I  may  wait 
a  little  while,  when  you  have  waited  so  long.    I  believe 


82  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

you,  mother.  Yes,  I  believe  you ;  I  am  your  lawful 
son." 

She  rose,  placed  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  kissed 
him.     Nothing  more  was  said. 

Gilbert  raked  the  ashes  over  the  smouldering  embers 
on  the  hearth,  lighted  his  mother's  night-lamp,  and  after 
closing  the  chamber-door  softly  behind  her,  stole  up-stain 
to  his  own  bed. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  he  AepL 


TEE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 


OHAPTER  IV. 

FORTUNE   ANI>    MISFORTUNE. 

On  the  same  evening,  a  scene  of  a  very  different  charao* 
ter  occarred,  in  which  certain  personages  of  this  history 
were  actors.  In  order  to  describe  it,  we  must  return  to 
the  company  of  sportsmen  whom  Gilbert  Potter  left  at  the 
Hammer-and-Trowel  Tavern,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

No  sooner  had  he  departed  than  the  sneers  of  the  young 
bucks,  who  felt  themselves  humiliated  by  his  unexpected 
success,  became  loud  and  frequent.  Mr.  Alfred  Barton, 
who  seemed  to  care  little  for  the  general  dissatisfaction, 
was  finally  reproached  with  having  introduced  such  an  imfit 
personage  at  a  gentleman's  hunt ;  whereupon  he  turned  im- 
patiently, and  retorted : 

"  There  were  no  particular  invitations  sent  out,  as  all  of 
you  know.  Anybody  that  had  a  horse,  and  knew  how  to 
manage  him,  was  welcome.  Zounds !  if  you  fellows  are 
afraid  to  take  hedges,  am  I  to  blame  for  that  ?  A  hunter 's 
a  hunter,  though  he  's  born  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  mar- 
riage certificate." 

"  That 's  the  talk,  Sqmre  !  "  cried  Fortune,  giving  his 
Mend  a  hearty  slap  between  the  shoulders.  "  I  *ve  seen 
riding  in  my  day,"  he  continued,  "  both  down  in  Loudon 
and  on  th(!  Eastern  Shore  —  men  born  with  spurs  on  their 
heels,  and  I  tell  you  this  Potter  could  hold  his  own,  even 
with  the  Lees  and  the  ToUivers.  We  took  the  hedge  to- 
gether, while  you  were  making  a  round  of  I  don't  know 
how  many  miles  on  the  road ;  and  I  never  saw  a  thing 
neater  done.  If  you  thought  there  was  anything  un&ii 
about  him,  why  did  n't  you  head  him  off?  " 
9 


fi4  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETi. 

"  Yes,  damme,"  echoed  Mr.  Barton,  bringing  down  his  fist 
upon  the  bar,  so  that  the  glasses  jimiped,  "  why  did  n't  you 
head  him  off?"  Mr.  Barton's  face  was  suspiciously  flushed, 
and  he  was  more  excited  than  the  occasion  justified. 

There  was  no  answer  to  the  question,  except  that  which 
none  of  the  young  bucks  dared  to  malce. 

"  Well,  I  've  had  about  enough  of  this,"  said  Mr.  Joel 
Ferris,  turning  on  his  heel ;  "  who  's  for  home  ?  " 

"  Me  ! "  answered  three  or  four,  with  more  readiness  thac 
grammar.  Some  of  the  steadier  young  farmers,  who  had 
come  for  an  afternoon's  recreation,  caring  little  who  was 
first  in  at  the  death,  sat  awhile  and  exchanged  opinions 
about  crops  and  cattle ;  but  Barton  and  Fortune  kept  to- 
gether, whispering  much,  and  occasionally  bursting  into  fits 
of  uproarious  laughter.  The  former  was  so  captivated  by 
his  new  friend,  that  before  he  knew  it  every  guest  was 
gone.  The  landlord  had  lighted  two  or  three  tallow  can 
dies,  and  now  approached  with  the  question : 

"  Will  you  have  supper,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  've  got,"  said  Fortune. 

This  was  not  language  to  which  the  host  was  accustomed. 
His  guests  were  also  his  fellow-citizens :  if  they  patronized 
him,  he  accommodated  them,  and  the  account  was  bal- 
anced. His  meals  were  as  good  as  anybody's,  though  he 
thought  it  that  should  n't,  and  people  so  very  particular 
might  stay  away.  But  he  was  a  mild,  amiable  nvan,  and 
Fortune's  keen  eye  and  dazzling  teeth  had  a  powerful 
effect  upon  him.  He  answered  civilly,  in  spite  of  an  in- 
ward protest : 

"  There  's  ham  and  eggs,  and  frizzled  beef." 

"  Nothing  could  be  better ! "  Fortune  exclaimed,  jump- 
ing up.  "  Come  'Squire  —  if  I  stay  over  Sunday  with  you, 
you  must  at  least  take  supper  at  my  expense." 

Mr.  Barton  tried  to  recollect  whether  he  had  invited  his 
friend  to  spend  Sunday  with  him.  It  must  be  so,  of  course , 
only,  ht  could  not  remember  when  he  had  spoken,  or  what 


THE  STORY   OF  KENTfETT.  9fl 

words  lie  had  used.  It  would  be  very  pleasant,  he  con- 
fessed, but  for  one  thing ;  and  how  was  he  to  get  ovei  the 
difficulty  ? 

However,  here  they  were,  at  the  table,  Fortune  heaping 
his  plate  like  a  bountiful  host,  and  talking  so  delightfully 
about  horses  and  hounds,  and  drinking-bouts,  and  all  those 
wild  experiences  which  have  such  a  charm  for  bachelors  of 
forty-five  or  fifty,  that  it  was  impossibleto  determine  in  his 
mind  what  he  should  do. 

After  the  supper,  they  charged  themselves  with  a  few 
additional  potations,  to  keep  oft'  the  dull  of  the  night  air, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  took  the  New-Garden  road.  A 
good  deal  of  confidential  whispering  had  preceded  their 
departure. 

"  They  're  off"  on  a  lark,"  the  landlord  remarked  to  him- 
self, as  they  rode  away,  "  and  it 's  a  shame,  in  men  of  their 

age- 
After  riding  a  mile,  they  reached  the  cross-road  on  tht 

left,  which  the  hunters  had  followed,  and  Fortune,  who  was 

a  little  in  advance,  turned  into  it. 

"  After  what  I  told  you,  'Squire,"  said  he,  "  you  won't 

wonder  that  I  know  the  country  so  well.     Let  us  push  on  ; 

it 's  not  more  than  two  miles.     I  would  be  very  clear  of 

showing  you  one  of  my  nests,  if  you  were  not  such  a  good 

fellow.     But  mum  's  the  word,  you  know." 

"  Never  fear,"  Barton  answered,  somewhat  thickly ;  "  I  'm 

an  old  bird.  Fortune." 

"  That  you  are !     Men  like  you  and  me  are  not  made  of 

the  same  stuff  as  those  young  nincompoops  ;  we  can  follow 

a  trail  without  giving  tongue  at  every  jump." 

Highly  flattered.  Barton  rodo  nearer,  and  gave  his  friend 

an  affectionate  punch  in  the  side.     Fortune  answered  with 

an  arm  around  his  waist  and  a  tight  hug,  and  so  they  rode 

onward  through  the  darkness. 

They  had  advanced  for  somewhat  more  than  a  mile  on 

tlie  cross-road,  and  found  themselves  in  a  hollow,  with  tall, 


86  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

dense  woods  on  either  side.  Fortune  drew  rein  and  lis- 
tened. There  was  no  wind  going,  and  the  utmost  stillness 
prevailed  in  every  direction.  There  was  something  awful 
in  the  gloom  and  solitude  of  the  forest,  and  Barton,  in  spile 
of  his  anticipations,  began  to  feel  uncomfortable. 

"  Good,  so  far  !  "  said  Fortune,  at  last  "  Here  we  leave 
the  road,  and  I  must  strike  a  light." 

"  Won't  it  be  seen  ?  "  Barton  anxiously  inquired. 

"  No :  it 's  a  dark-lanteni  —  a  most  convenient  thing.  J 
would  advise  you  to  get  one." 

With  that,  he  fumbled  in  his  holsters  and  produced  a 
small  object,  together  with  a  tinder-box,  and  swiftly  and 
skilfully  struck  a  light  There  was  a  little  blue  flash,  as  of 
sulphur,  the  snap  of  a  spring,  and  the  gleam  disappeared. 

"  Stay  ! "  he  said,  after  satisfying  himself  that  the  lan- 
tern was  in  order.  "  I  must  know  the  time.  Let  me  have 
your  watch  a  minute." 

Barton  hauled  up  the  heavy  article  from  the  depths  ol 
his  fob,  and  handed  it,  with  the  bunch  of  jingling  seals,  to 
his  friend.  The  latter  thrust  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
before  opening  the  lantern,  and  then  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten his  intention,  for  he  turned  the  light  suddenly  on 
Barton's  face. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  in  a  sharp  tone,  "  I  '11  trouble  you, 
'Squire,  for  the  fifty  dollars  young  Ferris  paid  you  before 
the  start,  and  whatever  other  loose  change  you  have  about 
you." 

Barton  was  so  utterly  astounded  that  the  stranger's 
words  conveyed  no  meaning  to  his  ears.  He  sat  with 
fixed  eyes,  open  mouth,  and  hanging  jaws,  and  was  con- 
scious only  that  the  hair  was  slowly  rising  upon  his  head. 

There  was  a  rustling  in  one  of  Fortune's  holsters,  fol- 
lowed by  a  mysterious  double  click.  The  next  moment, 
the  lantern  illumined  a  long,  bright  pistol-barrel,  which 
pointed  towards  the  victim's  breast,  and  caused  him  to  fee^ 
a  sharp,  wasp-like  sting  on  that  side  of  his  body. 


THE  STORY    01    KENNETT.  87 

"Be  quick,  no iv!  Hand  over  the  money !"  cried  For- 
tune, thrusting  the  pistol  an  inch  nearer. 

With  trembling  hands,  Barton  took  a  pocket-book  and 
purse  of  mole-skin  from  his  breast,  and  silently  obeyed. 
The  robber  put  up  the  pistol,  took  the  ring  of  the  lantern 
in  his  teeth,  and  rapidly  examined  the  money. 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty-five  ! "  he  said,  with  a  grin,  — 
"  not  a  bad  haul." 

"  Fortune  !  "  stammered  Barton,  in  a  piteous  voice,  "  thia 
is  a  joke,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"  O  yes,  ha !  ha !  —  a  very  good  joke,  —  a  stroke  of  for- 
tune for  you !     Look  here  ! " 

He  turned  full  upon  his  face  the  lantern  which  he  held 
in  his  left  hand,  while  with  the  right  he  snatched  oflf  his 
hat,  and  —  as  it  seemed  to  Barton's  eyes  —  the  greater 
part  of  his  head.  But  it  was  only  his  black  hair  and  whis- 
kers, which  vanished  in  the  gloom,  leaving  a  round,  smooth 
face,  and  a  head  of  close-cropped,  red  hair.  With  his 
wicked  eyes  and  shining  teeth.  Barton  imagined  that  he 
beheld  a  devil. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sandy  Flash  ?  "  said  the  robber. 

The  victim  uttered  a  ci*y  and  gave  himself  up  for  lost 
This  was  the  redoubtable  highwayman  —  the  terror  of  the 
county  —  who  for  two  years  had  defied  the  law  and  all  its 
ordinary  and  extraordinary  agents,  scouring  the  country  al 
his  will  between  the  Schuylkill  and  the  Susquehanna,  and 
always  striking  his  blows  where  no  one  r"'pected  them  to 
fall.  This  was  he  in  all  his  dreadful  presence,  —  a  match 
for  any  twenty  men,  so  the  story  went,  —  and  he,  Alfred 
Barton,  was  in  his  clutches !  A  cold  sweat  broke  out  over 
his  whole  body ;  his  face  grew  deadly  pale,  and  his  teeth 
chattered. 

The  highwayman  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  "  Sorry  I 
can't  spend  Sunday  with  you,"  said  he ;  "I  must  go  on  to- 
wards the  Rising  Sun.  When  you  get  another  fox,  send  me 
irord."    Then  he  leaned  over,  nearer  the  trembling  victini, 


8&  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

and  added  in  a  low,  significant  tone,  "  If  you  stir  from  th!l 
spot  in  less  than  one  hour,  you  are  a  dead  man.'* 

Then  he  rode  on,  whistling  "  Money  Musk  "  as  he  went 
Once  or  twice  he  stopped,  as  if  to  listen,  and  Barton's  heart 
ceased  to  bea* ;  but  by  degrees  the  sound  of  his  horse's 
hoofs  died  away.  The  silence  that  succeeded  was  full  of' 
terrors.  Barton's  horse  became  restive,  and  he  would  have 
dismounted  and  held  him,  but  for  the  weakness  in  every 
joint  which  made  him  think  that  his  body  was  falling 
asunder.  Now  and  then  a  leaf  rustled,  or  the  scent  of 
some  animal,  unperceived  by  his  own  nostrils,  caused  his 
horse  to  snort  and  stamp.  The  air  was  raw  and  sent  a 
fearful  chill  through  his  blood.  Moreover,  how  was  he  to 
measure  the  hour  ?  Plis  watch  was  gone ;  he  might  have 
guessed  by  the  stars,  but  the  sky  was  overcast.  Fortune 
and  Sandy  Flash  —  for  there  were  two  individuals  in  his 
bewildered  brain  —  would  surely  fulfil  their  threat  if  he 
stirred  before  the  appointed  time.  What  under  heaven 
should  he  do  ? 

Wait ;  that  was  all ;  and  he  waited  until  it  seemed  that 
morning  must  be  near  at  hand.  Then,  turning  his  horse, 
he  rode  back  very  slowly  towards  the  New-Garden  road, 
and  after  many  panics,  to  the  Hammer-and-T rowel.  There 
was  still  light  in  the  bar-room ;  should  the  door  open,  he 
would  be  seen.  He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  dashed 
past  Once  in  motion,  it  seemed  that  he  was  pursued,  and 
along  Tufi"kenamon  went  the  race,  until  his  horse,  panting 
and  exhausted,  paused  to  drink  at  Redley  Creek.  They 
had  gone  to  bed  at  the  Unicorn ;  he  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  felt  that  the  danger  was  over.  In  five  minutes  more 
he  was  at  home. 

Putting  his  horse  in  the  stable,  he  stole  quietly  to  the 
bouse,  pulled  off  his  boots  in  the  wood-shed,  and  entered 
by  a  back  way  through  the  kitchen.  Here  he  warmed  his 
chill  frame  before  the  hot  ashes,  and  then  very  gently  and 
cautiously  felt  his  way  to  bed  in  the  dark* 


TIIE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  86 

The  next  morning,  being  Sunday,  the  whole  hoiisebold 
servants  and  all,  slept  an  hour  later  than  usual,  as  was  then 
the  country  custom.  Giles,  the  old  soldier,  was  the  first  tc 
appear.  He  made  the  fire  in  the  kitchen,  put  on  the  watei 
lo  boil,  and  then  attended  to  the  feeding  of  the  cattle  at 
the  bam.  When  this  was  accomplished,  he  returned  to 
the  house  and  entered  a  bedroom  adjoining  the  kitchen, 
on  the  ground-floor.  Here  slept  "  Old-man  Barton,"  as  he 
was  generally  called,  —  Alfred's  father,  by  name  Abiah,  and 
now  eighty-five  years  of  age.  For  many  years  he  had 
been  a  paralytic  and  unable  to  walk,  but  the  disease  had 
not  affected  his  business  capacity.  He  was  the  hardest, 
shrewdest,  and  cunningest  miser  in  the  county.  There 
was  not  a  penny  of  the  income  and  expenditure  of  the 
farm,  for  any  year,  which  he  could  not  account  for,  —  not  a 
date  of  a  deed,  bond,  or  note  of  hand,  which  he  had  ever 
given  or  received,  that  was  not  indelibly  burnt  upon  his 
memory.  No  one,  not  even  his  sons,  knew  precisely  how 
much  he  was  worth.  The  old  lawyer  in  Chester,  who 
had  charge  of  much  of  his  investments,  was  as  shrewd  as 
himself,  and  when  he  made  his  annual  visit,  the  first  week 
in  April,  the  doors  were  not  only  closed,  but  everybody  was 
banished  from  hearing  distance  so  long  as  he  remained. 

Giles  assisted  in  washing  and  dressing  the  old  man,  then 
seated  him  in  a  rude  arm-chair,  resting  on  clumsy  wooden 
castors,  and  poured  out  for  him  a  small  wine-glass  full  of 
raw  brandy.  Once  or  twice  a  year,  usually  after  the  pay- 
ment of  delayed  interest,  Giles  received  a  share  of  the 
brandy ;  but  he  never  learned  to  expect  it.  Then  a  long 
hickory  staff  was  placed  in  the  old  man's  hand,  and  his 
ann-chair  was  rolled  into  the  kitchen,  to  a  certain  station 
between  the  fire  and  the  southern  window,  where  he  would 
be  out  of  the  way  of  his  daughter  Ann,  yet  could  measure 
with  his  eye  every  bit  of  lard  she  put  into  the  frying-pan, 
and  every  spoonful  of  molasses  that  entered  into  the  com* 
position  of  her  pies. 


40  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

She  had  already  set  the  table  for  breakfast.  The  bacon 
and  sliced  potatoes  were  frying  in  separate  pans,  and  Ann 
herself  was  lifting  the  lid  of  the  tin  coffee-pot,  to  see 
whether  the  beverage  had  "  conie  to  a  boil,"  when  the  old 
man  entered,  or,  strictly  speaking,  was  entered. 

As  his  chair  rolled  into  the  light,  the  hideousness,  not 
the  grace  and  serenity  of  old  age,  was  revealed.  His 
white  hair,  thin  and  half-combed,  straggled  over  the  dark- 
red,  purple-veined  skin  of  his  head  ;  his  cheeks  were  flabby 
bags  of  bristly,  wrinkled  leather ;  his  mouth  was  a  sunken, 
irregular  slit,  losing  itself  in  the  hanging  folds  at  the  cor- 
ners, and  even  the  life,  gathered  into  his  small,  restless  gray 
eyes,  was  half  quenched  under  the  red  and  heavy  edges 
of  the  lids.  The  third  and  fourth  fingers  of  his  hands 
were  crooked  upon  the  skinny  palms,  beyond  any  power  to 
open  them. 

When  Ann  —  a  gaunt  spinster  of  fifty-five  —  had  placed 
the  coffee  on  the  table,  the  old  man  looked  around,  and 
asked  with  a  snarl :  "  Where  's  Alfred  ?  " 

"  Not  up  yet,  but  you  need  n't  wait,  father." 

"  Wait  ?  "  was  all  he  said,  yet  she  understood  the  tone, 
and  wheeled  him  to  the  table.  As  soon  as  his  plate  was 
filled,  he  bent  forward  over  it,  rested  his  elbows  on  the 
cloth,  and  commenced  feeding  himself  with  hands  that 
trembled  so  violently  that  he  could  with  great  difficulty 
bring  the  food  to  his  mouth.  But  he  resented  all  offers  of 
assistance,  which  implied  any  weakness  beyond  that  of  the 
infirmity  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceal.  His 
meals  were  weary  tasks,  but  he  shook  and  jerked  through 
them,  and  would  have  gone  away  hungry  rather  than 
acknowledge  the  infirmity  of  his  great  age. 

Breakfast  was  nearly  over  before  Alfred  Barton  made 
his  appearance.  No  truant  school-boy  ever  dreaded  the 
master's  eye  as  he  dreaded  to  appear  before  his  father  that 
Sunday  morning.  His  sleep  had  been  broken  and  restless , 
'h&  teeth  of  Sandy  Flash  had  again  grinned  at  him  io 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  41 

oightmare-dreanis,  and  when  he  came  to  put  on  his  clotiies. 
the  sense  of  emptiness  in  his  breast-pocket  and  watch-fob 
mipressed  him  like  a  violent  physical  pain.  His  loss  was 
bad  enough,  but  the  inability  to  conceal  it  caused  him  even 
greater  distress. 

Buttoning  his  coat  c  »^er  the  double  void,  and  trying  to 
assxmie  his  usual  air,  he  went  down  to  the  kitchen  and  com- 
menced his  breakfast.  Whenever  he  looked  up,  he  found 
his  lather's  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  before  a  word  had 
been  spoken,  he  felt  that  he  had  already  betrayed  some- 
thing, and  that  the  truth  would  follow,  sooner  or  later.  A 
wicked  wish  crossed  his  mind,  but  was  instantly  suppressed, 
for  fear  lest  that,  also,  should  be  discovered. 

After  Ann  had  cleared  the  table,  and  retired  to  her  own 
room  in  order  to  array  herself  in  the  black  cloth  gown 
which  she  had  worn  every  Sunday  for  the  past  fifteen  years, 
the  old  man  said,  or  rather  wheezed  out  the  words,  — 

"  Kennett,  meetin'  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,"  said  his  son,  "  1  've  a  sort  of  chill  from 
yesterday."  And  he  folded  his  arms  and  shivered  very 
naturally. 

"  Did  Ferris  pay  you  ?  "  the  old  man  again  asked. 

"  Y-yes." 

"  Where  's  the  money  ?  " 

There  was  the  question,  and  it  must  be  faced.  Alfred 
Barton  worked  the  farm  "  on  shares,"  and  was  held  to  a 
strict  account  by  his  father,  not  only  for  half  of  all  the 
grain  and  produce  sold,  but  of  all  the  horses  and  cattle 
raised,  as  well  as  those  which  were  bought  on  speculation. 
On  his  share  he  managed  —  thanks  to  the  niggardly  sys- 
tem enforced  in  the  house  —  not  only  to  gratify  his  vulgar 
taste  for  display,  but  even  to  lay  aside  small  sums  from 
time  to  time.  It  was  a  convenient  arrangement,  but  might 
be  annulled  any  time  when  the  old  man  should  choose,  and 
Alfred  knew  that  a  prompt  division  of  the  profits  woidd  b« 
his  surest  guarantee  of  permanence. 


49  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"1  have  not  the  money  with  me,"  he  answered,  desper- 
ately, after  a  pause,  during  which  he  felt  his  father's  gaze 
travelling  over  him.  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Why  not !  You  have  n't-  spent  it  ?  "  The  latter  ques« 
don  was  a  croaking  shriek,  which  seemed  to  forebode, 
while  it  scarcely  admitted,  the  possibility  of  such  an  enor- 
mity. 

"  I  spent  only  four  shillings,  father,  but  —  but  —  but  the 
money  's  all  gone  !  " 

The  crooked  fingers  clutched  the  hickory  staff,  as  if 
eager  to  wield  it ;  the  sunken  gray  eyes  shot  forth  angry 
fire,  and  the  broken  figure  uncurved  and  straightened 
itself  with  a  wrathful  curiosity. 

"  Sandy  Flash  robbed  me  on  the  way  home,"  said  the 
son,  and  now  that  the  truth  was  out,  he  seemed  to  pluck 
up  a  little  courage. 

"  What,  what,  what ! "  chattered  the  old  man,  incredu- 
lously ;  "  no  lies,  boy,  no  lies  1 " 

The  son  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and  showed  his  empty 
watch-fob.  Then  he  gave  an  account  of  the  robbery,  not 
strictly  correct  in  all  its  details,  but  near  enough  for  his 
father  to  know,  without  discovering  inaccuracies  at  a  later 
day.  The  hickory-stick  was  shaken  once  or  twice  during 
the  recital,  but  it  did  not  fall  upon  the  culprit  —  though 
this  correction  (so  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood  ran)  had 
more  than  once  been  administered  within  the  previous  ten 
years.  As  Alfred  Barton  told  his  story,  it  was  hardly  a 
case  for  anger  on  the  father's  part,  so  he  took  his  revenge 
in  another  way. 

"  This  comes  o'  your  races  and  your  expensive  company, 
he  growled,  after  a  few  incoherent  sniffs  and  snarls ;  "  but 
I  don't  lose  my  half  of  the  horse.  No,  no !  I  'm  not  paid 
rill  the  money  's  been  handed  ovei.  Twenty-five  dollars, 
remember !  —  and  soon,  that  I  don't  lose  the  use  of  it  too 
fong.  As  for  your  money  and  the  watch,  I  've  nothing  to 
do  with  them.    I  've  got  along  without  a  watch  for  eighty- 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  48 

five  years,  and  I  never  wore  as  smart  a  coat  as  that  iji  my 
bom  days.  Young  men  understood  how  to  save,  in  mp 
time." 

Secretly,  however,  the  old  man  was  flattered  by  his  son's 
love  of  display,  and  enjoyed  his  swaggering  air,  although 
nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  confess  the  fact.  His 
owTi  father  had  come  to  Pennsylvania  as  a  servant  of  one 
of  the  first  settlers,  and  the  reverence  which  he  had  felt,  as 
a  boy,  for  the  members  of  the  Quaker  and  farmer  aristoo- 
racy  of  the  neighborhood,  had  now  developed  into  a  late 
vanity  to  see  his  own  family  acknowledged  as  the  equals  of 
the  descendants  of  the  former.  Alfred  had  long  since  dis- 
covered that  when  he  happened  to  return  home  from  the 
society  of  the  Falconers,  or  the  Caswells,  or  the  Carsons, 
the  old  man  was  in  an  unusual  good-humor.  At  such 
times,  the  son  felt  sure  that  he  was  put  down  for  a  large 
slice  of  the  inheritance. 

After  turning  the  stick  over  and  over  in  his  skinny  hands, 
and  pressing  the  top  of  it  against  his  toothless  gums,  the 
old  man  again  spoke. 

"  See  here,  you  're  old  enough  now  to  lead  a  steady  life. 
You  might  ha'  had  a  farm  o'  your  own,  like  Elisha,  if  you'd 
done  as  well.  A  very  fair  bit  o'  money  he  married,  —  very 
fair,  —  but  I  don't  say  you  could  n't  do  as  well,  or,  maybe, 
better." 

"  I  've  been  thinking  of  that,  myself,"  the  son  replied. 

"  Have  you  ?  Why  don't  you  step  up  to  her  then  ?  Ten 
thousand  dollars  are  n't  to  be  had  every  day,  and  you  need 
n't  expect  to  get  it  without  the  askin' !  Where  molasses  is 
dropped,  you  '11  always  find  more  than  one  fly.  Others 
than  you  have  got  their  eyes  on  the  girl." 

The  son's  eyes  opened  tolerably  wide  when  the  old  man 
began  to  speak,  but  a  spark  of  intelligence  presently  flashed 
into  them,  and  an  expression  of  cunning  ran  over  his  face. 

"  Don't  be  anxious,  daddy  ! "  said  he,  with  assumed  play- 
fulness; "she  's  not  a  girl  to  take  the  first  that  ofTers 


44  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

She  has  a  mind  of  her  own,  —  with  her  tlie  more  haste  the 
less  speed.  I  know  what  I  'm  about ;  I  have  my  top  eye 
open,  and  when  there  's  a  good  chance,  you  won'r  fin<^  «»c 
sneaking  behind  the  wood-house." 

"  Well,  well ! "  muttered  the  old  man, "  we  '11  see,  —  we  'L 
«ee !  A  good  family,  too,  —  not  that  I  care  for  that  My 
family  's  as  good  as  the  next.  But  if  you  let  her  slip, 
boy"  —  and  here  he  brought  down  the  end  of  his  stick 
with  a  significant  whack,  upon  the  floor.  "  This  I  '11  tell 
you,"  he  added,  without  finishing  the  broken  sentence, 
"  that  whether  you  're  a  rich  man  or  a  beggar,  depends  on 
yourself.  The  more  you  have,  the  more  you  '11  get ;  re- 
member that !     Bring  me  my  brandy !  " 

Alfred  Barton  knew  the  exact  value  of  his  father's  words. 
Having  already  neglected,  or,  at  least,  failed  to  succeed, 
in  regard  to  two  matches  which  his  father  had  proposed, 
he  understood  the  risk  to  his  inheritance  which  was  implied 
by  a  third  failure.  And  yet,  looking  at  the  subject  soberly, 
there  was  not  the  slightest  prospect  of  success.  Martha 
Deane  was  the  girl  in  the  old  man's  mind,  and  an  instinct, 
stronger  than  his  vanity,  told  him  that  she  never  would,  or 
could,  be  his  wife.  But,  in  spite  of  that,  it  must  be  his 
business  to  create  a  contrary  impression,  and  keep  it  alive 
as  long  as  possible,  —  perhaps  until  —  until  — 

We  all  know  what  was  in  his  mind.  Until  the  old  man 
■hould  die. 


TEK  STOBir  OF  KENNETT. 


CHAPTER   V. 

GUESTS    AT    FAIBTHORN'S. 

The  Fairthom  farm  was  immediately  north  of  Kennett 
Square.  For  the  first  mile  towards  Unionville,  the  rich 
rolling  fields  which  any  traveller  may  see,  to  this  day,  on 
either  side  of  the  road,  belonged  to  it.  The  house  stood 
on  the  right,  in  the  hollow  into  which  the  road  dips,  on 
leaving  the  village.  Originally  a  large  cabin  of  hewn  logs, 
it  now  rejoiced  in  a  stately  stone  addition,  overgrown 
with  ivy  up  to  the  eaves,  and  a  long  porch  in  front,  below 
which  two  mounds  of  box  guarded  the  flight  of  stone  steps 
leading  down  to  the  garden.  The  hill  in  the  rear  kept  off 
the  north  wind,  and  this  garden  caught  the  earliest  warmth 
of  spring.  Nowhere  else  in  the  neighborhood  did  the 
crocuses  bloom  so  early,  or  the  peas  so  soon  appear  above 
ground.  The  lack  of  order,  the  air  of  old  neglect  about 
the  place,  in  nowise  detracted  from  its  warm,  cosy  charac- 
ter; it  was  a  pleasant  nook,  and  the  relatives  and  friends 
of  the  family  (whose  name  was  Legion)  always  liked  to 
visit  there. 

Several  days  had  elapsed  since  the  chase,  and  the  event- 
fill  evening  which  followed  it.  It  was  baking-day,  and  the 
plwnp  arms  of  Sally  Fairthorn  were  floury-white  up  to 
the  elbows.  She  was  leaning  over  the  dough-trough, 
plunging  her  fists  furiously  into  the  spongy  mass,  when  she 
heard  a  step  on  the  porch.  Although  her  gown  was  pinned 
up,  leaving  half  of  her  short,  striped  petticoat  visible,  and 
a  blue  and  white  spotted  handkerchief  concealed  her  dark 
hair,  Sally  did  not  stop  to  think  of  that     She  rushed  into 


4i>  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT, 

the  front  room,  just  as  a  gaunt  female  figure  passed  the 
window,  at  the  sight  of  which  she  clapped  her  hands  so 
that  the  flour  flew  in  a  little  white  cloud,  and  two  or  three 
strips  of  dough  peeled  oflF  her  arms  and  fell  upon  the 
floor. 

The  front-door  opened,  and  our  old  friend,  Miss  Betsy 
Lavender,  walked  into  the  room. 

Any  person,  between  Kildeer  Hill  and  Hockessin,  who 
did  not  know  Miss  Betsy,  must  have  been  an  utter  stranger 
to  tlie  country,  or  an  idiot'.  She  had  a  marvellous  clairvoy- 
ant faculty  for  the  approach  of  either  Joy  or  Grief,  and 
always  turned  up  just  at  the  moment  when  she  was  most 
wanted.  Profession  had  she  none ;  neither  a  permanent 
home,  but  for  twenty  years  she  had  wandered  hither  and 
thither,  in  highly  independent  fashion,  turning  her  hand 
to  whatever  seemed  to  require  its  cunning.  A  better  house- 
keeper never  might  have  lived,  if  she  could  have  stuck  to 
one  spot ;  an  admirable  cook,  nurse,  seamstress,  and  spin- 
ner, she  refused  alike  the  high  wages  of  wealthy  farmers 
and  the  hands  of  poor  widowers.  She  had  a  little  money 
of  her  own,  but  never  refused  payment  from  those  who 
were  able  to  give  it,  in  order  that  she  might  now  and  then 
make  a  present  of  her  services  to  poorer  friends.  Her 
speech  was  blunt  and  rough,  her  ways  odd  and  eccentric ; 
her  name  was  rarely  mentioned  without  a  laugh,  but  those 
who  laughed  at  her  esteemed  her  none  the  less.  In  those 
days  of  weekly  posts  and  one  newspaper,  she  was  Politics, 
Art,  Science,  and  Literature  to  many  families. 

In  person,  Miss  Betsy  Lavender  was  peculiar  rather 
than  attractive.  She  was  nearly,  if  not  quite  fifty  years 
of  age,  rather  tall,  and  a  little  stoop-shouldered.  Her  face, 
at  first  sight,  suggested  that  of  a  horse,  with  its  long,  ridged 
nose,  loose  lips  and  short  chin.  Her  eyes  were  dull  gray, 
set  near  together,  and  much  sharper  in  their  operation  than 
a  stranger  would  suppose.  Over  a  high,  narrow  forehead 
ihe  wore  thin  bands  of  tan-colored  hair,  somewhat  grizzled, 


THt  STORT   OF   KENNETT.  40 

and  forming  a  coil  at  the  back  of  her  head,  barely  strong 
enough  to  hold  the  teeth  of  an  enormous  tortoise-shell 
comb.  Yet  her  grotesqueness  had  nothing  repellant;  it 
was  a  genial  caricature,  at  which  no  one  could  take  offeree. 

"  The  very  person  I  wanted  to  see ! "  cried  Sally. 
^  Father  and  mother  are  going  up  to  Uncle  John's  this 
afternoon  ;  Aunt  Eliza  has  an  old  woman's  quil ting-party, 
and  they  '11  stay  all  night,  and  however  am  I  to  manage 
Joe  and  Jake  by  myself?  Martha 's  half  promised  to 
come,  but  not  till  after  supper.  It  will  all  go  right,  since 
you  are  here  ;  come  into  mother's  room  and  take  off  your 
t^ngs!" 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  with  a  snort,  "  that 's  to  be  my 
business,  eh  ?  I  '11  have  my  hands  full ;  a  pearter  couple 
o'  lads  a'n't  to  be  found  this  side  o'  Nottin'gam.  They 
might  ha'  growed  up  wild  on  the  Barrens,  for  all  the  man- 
ners they  've  got" 

Sally  knew  that  this  criticism  was  true  ;  also  that  Miss 
Betsy's  task  was  no  sinecure,  and  she  therefore  thought 
it  best  to  change  the  subject 

"  There ! "  said  she,  as  Miss  Betsy  gave  the  thin  rope 
of  her  back  hair  a  fierce  twist,  and  jammed  her  high  comb 
inward  and  outward  that  the  teeth  might  catch,  —  "there! 
now  you  '11  do !  Come  into  the  kitchen  and  tell  me  the 
news,  while  I  set  my  loaves  to  rise." 

"  Loaves  to  rise,"  echoed  IVIiss  Betsy,  seating  herself  on 
a  tall,  rush-bottomed  chair  near  the  window.  She  had  an 
incorrigible  habit  of  repeating  the  last  three  words  of  the 
person  with  whom  she  spoke,  —  a  habit  which  was  some- 
times mimicked  good-humoredly,  even  by  her  best  friends. 
Many  persons,  however,  were  flattered  by  it,  as  it  seemed 
to  denote  an  earnest  attention  to  what  they  were  saying 
Between  the  two,  there  it  was  and  there  it  would  be,  to 
the  day  of  her  death,  —  Miss  Lavender's  "keel*-mark, 
•s  the  farmers  said  of  their  sheep. 

I  Keel,  a  local  teim  for  red  chalk. 


IS  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  after  taking  breath,  "  no  news  it 
good  news,  these  days.  Down  Whitely  Creek  way,  to- 
wards Strickersville,  there  's  fever,  they  say ;  Richard  Rudd 
talks  o'  buildin'  higher  up  the  hill,  —  you  know  it 's  low 
and  swampy  about  the  old  house,  —  but  Sarah,  she  says 
it  '11  be  a  mortal  long  ways  to  the  spring-house,  and  so 
betwixt  and  between  them  I  dunno  how  it'll  turn  out. 
Dear  me  !  I  was  up  at  Aunt  Huffin'ton's  t'  other  day ;  she 's 
lookin'  poorly ;  her  mother,  I  remember,  went  off  in  a 
decline,  the  same  year  the  Tories  burnt  down  their  bam, 
and  I  'm  afeard  she  's  goin'  the  same  way.  But,  yes !  I 
guess  there  's  one  thing  you  '11  like  to  hear.  Old-man  Bar- 
ton is  goin'  to  put  up  a  new  wagon-house,  and  Mark  is  to 
have  the  job." 

"  Law !"  exclaimed  Sally,  "what's  that  to  me?"  But 
there  was  a  decided  smile  on  her  face  as  she  put  another 
loaf  into  the  pan,  and,  although  her  head  was  turned  away, 
a  pretty  flush  of  color  came  up  behind  her  ear,  and  be- 
trayed itself  to  Miss  Lavender's  quick  eye. 

"  Nothin'  much,  I  reckon,"  the  latter  answered,  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  way,  '*  only  I  thought  you  might  like  to 
know  it,  Mark  bein'  a  neighbor,  like,  and  a  right-down 
smart  young  fellow." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Sally,  with  sudden  candor, 
"  he  's  Martha's  cousin." 

"  Martha's  cousin,  —  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  'd  be 
something  more  to  her,  some  day." 

"  No,  indeed  !  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Betsy  ?  " 
Sally  turned  around  and  faced  her  visitor,  regardless  that 
her  soft  brunette  face  showed  a  decided  tinge  of  scarlet 
At  this  instant  clattering  feet  were  heard,  and  Joe  and 
Jake  rushed  into  the  kitchen.  They  greeted  their  old 
friend  with  boisterous  demonstrations  of  joy. 

"  Now  we  '11  have  dough-nuts,"  cried  Joe. 

"  No ;  'lasses-wax  ! "  said  Jake.  "  Sally,  where 's  mother? 
Dad 's  out  at  the  wall,  and  Bonnie  's  jumpm'  and  prancin 
like  anything ! " 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  4i 

**  Go  along ! "  exclaimed  Sally,  with  a  slap  which  lost  Its 
force  in  the  air,  as  Jake  jumped  away.  Then  they  all  left 
tlie  kitchen  together,  and  escorted  the  mother  to  the  gar- 
den-wall by  the  road,  which  served  the  purpose  of  a  horse- 
block. Farmer  Fairthorn —  a  hale,  ruddy,  honest  figure,  in 
broad-brimmed  hat,  brown  coat  and  knee-breeches  —  al- 
ready sat  upon  the  old  mare,  and  the  pillion  behind  his 
saddle  awaited  the  coming  burden.  Mother  Fairthorn,  a 
cheery  Uttle  woman,  with  dark  eyes  and  round  brunette  face, 
like  her  daughter,  wore  the  scoop  bonnet  and  drab  shawl 
of  a  Quakeress,  as  did  many  in  the  neighborhood  who  did 
not  belong  to  the  sect.  Never  were  people  better  suited 
to  each  other  than  these  two :  they  took  the  world  as  they 
found  it,  and  whether  the  crops  were  poor  or  abundant, 
whether  money  came  in  or  had  to  be  borrowed,  whether 
the  roof  leaked,  or  a  broken  pale  let  the  sheep  into  the 
garden,  they  were  alike  easy  of  heart,  contented  and 
cheerful. 

The  mare,  after  various  obstinate  whirls,  was  finally 
brought  near  the  wall ;  the  old  woman  took  her  seat  on 
the  pinion,  and  after  a  parting  admonition  to  Sally :  "  Rake 
the  coals  and  cover  'em  up,  before  going  to  bed,  whatever 
you  do  ! "  —  they  went  off,  deliberately,  up  the  hill. 

"  Miss  Betsy,"  said  Joe,  with  a  very  grave  air,  as  they 
returned  to  the  kitchen,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing. 
-—  whether  it 's  true  or  not.     Sally  says  I  'm  a  monkey." 

"  I  'm  a  monkey,"  repeated  the  unconscious  Miss  Laven- 
der, whereupon  both  boys  burst  into  shrieks  of  laughter, 
and  made  their  escape. 

"  Much  dough -nuts  they  '11  get  from  me,"  muttered  the 
ruffled  spinster,  as  she  pinned  up  her  sleeves  and  pro- 
ceeded to  help  Sally.  The  work  went  on  rapidly,  and  by  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  kitchen  wore  its  normal  aspect 
of  homely  neatness.  Then  came  the  hour  or  two  of  quiet 
and  rest,  nowhere  in  the  world  so  grateful  as  in  a  country 
tarm-house,  to  its  mistress  and  her  daughters,  when  all  the 
4 


so  THE  STORl    OF  KENNETT. 

rough  work  of  the  day  is  over,  and  only  the  lighter  task  of 
preparing  supper  yet  remains.  Then,  when  the  sewing 
or  knitting  has  been  produced,  the  little  painted-pine  work- 
stand  placed  near  the  window,  and  a  pleasant  neighbor 
drops  in  to  enliven  the  softer  occupation  with  gossip,  the 
country  wife  or  girl  finds  her  life  a  very  happy  and  cheer- 
ful possession.  No  dresses  are  worn  with  so  much  plea» 
ure  as  those  then  made ;  no  books  so  enjoyed  as  those  then 
read,  a  chapter  or  two  at  a  time. 

Sally  Fairthom,  we  must  confess,  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  reading  much.  Her  education  had  been  limited.  She 
had  ciphered  as  far  as  Compound  Interest,  read  Murray's 
**  Sequel,"  and  Goldsmith's  "  Rome,"  and  could  write  a  fair 
letter,  without  misspelling  many  words ;  but  very  few  other 
girls  in  the  neighborhood  possessed  greater  accomplish- 
ments than  these,  and  none  of  them  felt,  or  even  thought 
of^  their  deficiencies.  There  were  no  "  missions "  in  those 
days ;  it  was  fifty  or  sixty  years  before  the  formation  of 
the  "  Kennett  Psychological  Society,"  and  "  Pamela," 
"Rasselas,"  and  "Joseph  Andrews,"  were  lent  and  bor- 
rowed, as  at  present  "  Consuelo,"  Buckle,  RuskinJ  and 
«  Enoch  Arden." 

One  single  work  of  art  had  Sally  created,  and  it  now 
hung,  stately  in  a  frame  of  curled  maple,  in  the  chilly 
parlor.  It  was  a  sampler,  containing  the  alphabet,  both 
large  and  small,  the  names  and  dates  of  birth  of  both  her 
parents,  a  harp  and  willow-tree,  the  twigs  whereof  were 
represented  by  parallel  rows  of  "  herring-bone "  stitch,  a 
sharp  zigzag  spray  of  rose-buds,  and  the  following  stanza^ 
placed  directly  underneath  the  harp  and  willow :  — 

"  By  Babel's  streams  we  Sat  and  Wept 
When  Zion  we  thought  on : 
For  Grief  thereof,  we  Hang  our  Harp 
The  Willow  Tree  upon." 

Across  the  bottom  of  the  sampler  was  embroidered  the  in- 
■cription :  "  Done  by  Sarah  Ann  Fairthom,  May,  1792,  ia 
the  16th  year  of  her  age." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  tt 

While  Sally  went  up-stairs  to  her  room,  to  put  her  hail 
into  order,  and  tie  a  finer  apron  over  her  cloth  gown,  Miss 
Betsy  Lavender  was  made  the  victim  of  a  most  painful 
experience. 

Joe  and  Jake,  who  had  been  dodging  around  the  house, 
half-coaxing  and  half-teasing  the  ancient  maiden  whom 
they  both  plagued  and  liked,  had  not  been  heard  or  seen 
for  a  while.  Miss  Betsy  was  knitting  by  the  front  window, 
waiting  for  Sally,  when  the  door  was  hastily  thrown  open, 
and  Joe  appeared,  panting,  scared,  and  with  an  expression 
of  horror  upon  his  face. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Betsy ! "  was  his  breathless  exclamation, 
"  Jake  !  the  cherry-tree  !  " 

Dropping  her  work  upon  the  floor.  Miss  Lavender  hiu- 
ried  out  of  the  house,  with  beating  heart  and  trembling 
Uinbs,  following  Joe,  who  ran  towards  the  field  above  the 
bam,  where,  near  the  fence,  there  stood  a  large  and  lofty 
cherry-tree.  As  she  reached  the  fence  she  beheld  Jake, 
lying  motionless  on  his  back,  on  the  brown  grass. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy ! "  she  cried ;  her  knees  gave 
way,  and  she  sank  upon  the  ground  in  an  angular  heap. 
When,  with  a  desperate  groan,  she  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  through  the  lower  rails,  Jake  was  not  to  be  seen. 
With  a  swift,  convulsive  effort  she  rose  to  her  feet,  just  in 
time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  two  young  scamps  whirling 
over  the  farther  fence  into  the  wood  below. 

She  walked  unsteadily  back  to  the  house.  "  It 's  given 
me  such  a  turn,"  she  said  to  Sally,  after  describing  the 
trick,  "  that  I  dunno  when  I  '11  get  over  it" 

Sally  gave  her  some  whiskey  and  sugar,  which  soon 
brought  a  nnd  red  to  the  tip  of  her  chin  and  the  region 
of  her  cheek-bones,  after  which  she  professed  that  she  felt 
very  comfortable.  But  the  boys,  frightened  at  the  effect 
of  their  thoughtless  prank,  did  not  make  their  appearance. 
Joe,  seeing  Miss  Betsy  fall,  thought  she  was  dead,  and  the 
two  hid  themselves  in  a  bed  of  dead  leaves,  beside  a  ialleQ 


Si  THE  Sl-Okl    OF  KENNETT. 

log,  not  daring  to  venture  home  for  supper.  Sally  said 
they  should  have  none,  and  would  have  cleared  the  table ; 
but  Miss  Betsy,  whose  kind  heart  had  long  since  relented, 
went  forth  and  brought  them  to  light,  promising  that  she 
would  not  tell  their  father,  provided  they  "  would  never  do 
such  a  wicked  thing  again."  Their  behavior,  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  was  irreproachable. 

Just  as  candles  were  being  lighted,  there  was  another 
step  on  the  porch,  and  the  door  opened  on  Martha  Deane. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  !  "  cried  Sally.  "  Never  mind  your  pat- 
tens, Martha ;  Joe  shall  carry  them  into  the  kitchen. 
Come,  let  me  take  off  your  cloak  and  hat." 

Martha's  coming  seemed  to  restore  the  fading  daylight 
Not  boisterous  or  impulsive,  like  Sally,  her  nature  burned 
with  a  bright  and  steady  flame,  —  white  and  cold  to  some, 
golden  and  radiant  to  others.  Her  form  was  slender,  and 
every  motion  expressed  a  calm,  serene  grace,  which  could 
only  spring  from  some  conscious  strength  of  character. 
'  Her  face  was  remarkably  symmetrical,  its  oval  outline  ap- 
proaching the  Greek  ideal ;  but  the  brow  was  rather  high 
than  low,  and  the  light  brown  hair  covered  the  fair  temples 
evenly,  without  a  ripple.  Her  eyes  were  purely  blue,  and 
a  quick,  soft  spark  was  easily  kindled  in  their  depths ;  the 
cheeks  round  and  rosy,  and  the  mouth  clearly  and  deli- 
cately cut,  with  an  unusual,  yet  wholly  feminine  firmness 
in  the  lines  of  the  upper  lip.  This  peculiarity,  again,  if 
slightly  o.it  of  harmony  with  the  pervading  gentleness  of  her 
face,  was  balanced  by  the  softness  and  sweetness  of  her 
dimpled  chin,  and  gave  to  her  face  a  rare  union  of  strength 
and  tenderness.  It  very  rarely  happens  that  decision  and 
power  of  will  in  a  young  woman  are  not  manifested  by 
some  characteristic  rather  masculine  than  feminine  ;  but 
Martha  Doane  knew  the  art  of  unwearied,  soft  assertiou 
and  resistance,  and  her  beautiful  lips  could  pronounce, 
when  necessary,  a  final  word. 

Joe  and  Jake  came  forward  with  a  half-shy  delight,  ttt 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  5S 

irelcome  "  Cousin  Martha,"  as  she  was  called  in  the  Fair< 
thorn  household,  her  mother  and  Sally's  father  having 
been  "  own  "  cousins.  There  was  a  cheerful  fire  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  three  ladies  gathered  in  front  of  it,  witn 
the  work-stand  in  the  middle,  while  the  boys  took  posses- 
sion of  the  corner-nooks.  The  latter  claimed  their  share 
of  the  gossip ;  they  knew  the  family  histories  of  the  neigh- 
borhood much  better  than  their  school-books,  and  exhib- 
ited a  precocious  interest  in  this  form  of  knowledge.  The 
conversation,  therefore,  was  somewhat  guarded,  and  the 
knitting  and  sewing  all  the  more  assiduously  performed, 
until,  with  great  reluctance,  and  after  repeated  commands, 
Joe  and  Jake  stole  off  to  bed. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  room  then  became  infinitely 
more  free  and  confidential.  Sally  dropped  her  hands  in 
her  lap,  and  settled  herself  more  comfortably  in  her  chair, 
while  Miss  Lavender,  with  an  unobserved  side-glance  at 
her,  said :  — 

"  Mark  is  to  put  up  Barton's  new  wagon-house,  I  hear, 
Martha." 

"  Yes,"  Martha  answered ;  "  it  is  not  much,  but  Mark, 
of  course,  is  very  proud  of  his  first  job.  There  is  a  better 
one  in  store,  though  he  does  not  know  of  it." 

Sally  pricked  up  her  ears.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Betsy. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  mentioned,  you  will  understand.  I  saw 
Alfred  Barton  to-day.  He  seems  to  take  quite  an  interest 
in  Mark,  all  at  once,  and  he  told  me  that  the  Hallowells 
are  going  to  build  a  new  barn  this  summer.  He  spoke  to 
tliem  of  Mark,  and  thinks  the  work  is  almost  sure." 

"  Well,  now !  "  Miss  Betsy  exclaimed,  "  if  he  gets  that, 
after  a  year's  journey-work,  Mark  is  a  made  man.  And 
1 11  speak  to  Richard  Rudd  the  next  time  I  see  him.  He 
thinks  he  's  beholden  to  me,  since  Sarah  had  the  fever  so 
bad.  I  don't  like  folks  to  think  that,  but  there  's  times 
when  it  appears  to  come  handy." 


M  THE  STORY  Of  KENNETT. 

Sally  arose,  flushed  and  silent,  and  brought  a  plate  of 
cakes  and  a  basket  of  apples  from  the  pantry.  The  work 
was  now  wholly  laid  aside,  and  the  stand  cleared  to  receive 
the  refreshments. 

"  Now  pare  your  peels  in  one  piece,  girls,"  Miss  Betsy 
advised,  "  and  then  whirl  'em  to  find  the  ittals  o'  youi 
sweethearts'  names." 

"  You,  too,  Miss  Betsy ! "  cried  Sally,  "  we  must  find  out 
the  widower's  name  ! " 

"  The  widower's  name,"  Miss  Betsy  gravely  repeated,  as 
ahe  took  a  knife. 

With  much  mirth  the  parings  were  cut,  slowly  whirled 
Cfiree  times  around  the  head,  and  then  let  fly  over  the  left 
shoulder.  Miss  Betsy's  was  first  examined  and  pronounced 
to  be  an  A. 

"  Who  's  A  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Alfred !  "  said  Sally.  "  Now,  Martha,  here  *s  yours  — 
an  S,  no  it 's  a  G  !  " 

"  The  curl  is  the  wrong  way,"  said  Martha,  gravely,  "  it  'a 
a  figure  3  ;  so,  I  have  three  of  them,  have  I  ?  " 

"  And  mine,"  Sally  continued,  "  is  a  W !  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  look  at  it  upside  down.  The  inside  of  the 
peel  is  uppermost :  you  must  turn  it,  and  then  it  will  be  an 
M." 

Sally  snatched  it  up  in  affected  vexation,  and  threw  it 
into  the  fire.  "  Oh,  I  know  a  new  way !  "  she  cried  ;  "  did 
you  ever  try  it,  Martha  —  with  the  key  and  the  Bible  ! " 

*'  Old  as  the  hills,  but  awful  sure,"  remarked  Miss  I^av- 
ender.  "  When  it 's  done  serious,  it 's  never  been  known 
to  fail." 

Sally  took  the  house-key,  and  brought  from  the  o/d  wal- 
nut cabinet  a  plump  octavo  Bible,  which  she  opened  at  the 
Song  of  Solomon,  eighth  chapter  and  sixth  verse.  The 
end  of  the  key  being  carefully  placed  therein,  the  halves 
of  the  book  were  bound  together  with  cords,  so  that  it 
could  be  carried  by  the  key-handle.     Then  Sally  and  Mar 


FHE  STORY  OF  SENNETT.  W 

(faa,  sitting  face  to  face,  placed  each  the  end  of  the  fore 
finger  of  the  right  hand  under  the  half  the  ring  of  the  k^ 
nearest  to  her. 

"  Now,  Martha,"  said  Sally,  "  we  '11  try  your  fortune  first 
Say  '  A,'  and  then  repeat  the  verse  :  '  set  me  as  a  seal  upon 
thy  heart,  as  a  seal  upon  thine  arm ;  for  love  is  strong  as 
dea'h,  jealousy  is  cruel  as  the  grave :  the  coals  thereof  are 
coals  of  fire,  which  hath  a  most  vehement  flame.'  " 

Martha  did  as  she  was  bidden,  but  the  book  hung  mo- 
tionless. She  was  thereupon  directed  to  say  B,  and  repeat 
the  verse ;  and  so  on,  letter  by  letter.  The  slender  fingers 
trembled  a  little  with  the  growing  weight  of  the  book,  and, 
although  Sally  protested  that  she  was  holding  as  still  "  as 
she  knew  how,"  the  trembling  increased,  and  before  the 
verse  which  followed  G  had  been  finished,  the  ring  of  the 
key  slowly  turned,  and  the  volume  fell  to  the  floor. 

Martha  picked  it  up  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  who  was  in  your  mind,  Sally,"  she  said. 
*♦  Now  let  me  tell  your  fortune :  we  will  begin  at  L  —  it 
will  save  time." 

"  Save  time,"  said  Miss  Lavender,  rising.  "  Have  it  out 
betwixt  and  between  you,  girls :  I  'm  a-goin'  to  bed." 

The  two  girls  soon  followed  her  example.  Hastily 
undressing  themselves  in  the  chilly  room,  they  lay  down 
side  by  side,  to  enjoy  the  blended  warmth  and  rest,  and 
the  tender,  delicious  interchanges  of  confidence  which  pre- 
cede sleep.  Though  so  difierent  in-  every  fibre  of  their 
natures,  they  loved  each  other  with  a  very  true  and  tender 
affection. 

"  Martha,"  said  Sally,  after  an  interval  of  silence,  "  did 
you  think  I  made  the  Bible  turn  at  G  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  thought  it  would  turn,  and  therefore  it  did 
Gilbert  Potter  was  in  your  mind,  of  course." 

"  And  not  in  yours,  Martha  ?  " 

**  If  any  man  was  seriously  in  my  mind,  Sally,  do  yon 
think  I  would  take  the  Bible  and  the  door-key  in  order  to 
find  out  his  name  ?  " 


M  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Sally  was  not  adroit  in  speech :  she  felt  that  her  question 
had  not  been  answered,  but  was  unable  to  see  precisely 
how  the  answer  had  been  evaded. 

"  I  certainly  was  beginning  to  think  that  you  liked  Gil- 
bert,'* she  said. 

"  So  I  do.  Anybody  may  know  that  who  cares  for  the 
information."     And  Martha  laughed  cheerfully. 

"Would  you  say  so  to  Gilbert  himself?"  Sally  timidly 
suggested. 

"  Certainly ;  but  why  should  he  ask  ?  I  like  a  great 
many  young  men." 

«  Oh,  Martha  ! " 

"  Oh,  Sally  !  —  and  so  do  you.  But  there  *s  this  I  will 
say :  if  I  were  to  love  a  man,  neither  he  nor  any  other  liv- 
ing soul  should  know  it,  until  he  had  told  me  with  his  own 
lips  that  his  heart  had  chosen  me." 

The  strength  of  conviction  in  Martha's  grave,  gentle 
voice,  struck  Sally  dumb.  Her  lips  were  sealed  on  the 
delicious  secret  she  was  longing,  and  yet  afraid,  to  disclose. 
He  had  not  spoken  :  she  hoped  he  loved  her,  she  was  sure 
she  loved  him.  Did  she  speak  now,  she  thought,  she  would 
lower  herself  in  Martha's  eyes.  With  a  helpless  impulse, 
she  threw  one  arm  over  the  latter's  neck,  and  kissed  her 
cheek.  She  did  not  know  that  with  the  kiss  she  had  left  a 
tear. 

"  Sally,"  said  Martha,  in  a  tender  whisper,  "  I  only  spoke 
for  myself.  Some  hearts  must  be  silent,  while  it  is  the 
nature  of  others  to  speak  out.  You  are  not  afraid  of  me : 
it  will  be  womanly  in  you  to  tell  me  everything.  Your 
cheek  is  hot :  you  are  blushing.  Don't  blush,  Sally  dear, 
for  I  know  it  already." 

Sally  answered  with  an  impassioned  demonstration  of 
gratitude  and  affection.  Then  she  spoke  ;  but  we  will  not 
reveal  the  secrets  of  her  virgin  heart  It  is  enough  that, 
gooihed  and  comforted  by  Martha's  wise  counsel  and  sym- 
pathy, she  sank  into  happy  slumber  at  her  side. 


TBE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  91 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE    NEW   GILBERT. 

This  time  the  weather,  which  so  often  thwarts  che  Sar- 
flier's  calculations,  favored  Gilbert  Potter.  In  a  w^eek 
the  two  fields  were  ploughed,  and  what  little  farm-work 
remained  to  be  done  before  the  first  of  April,  could  be 
safely  left  to  Sam.  On  the  second  Monday  after  the  chase, 
therefore,  he  harnessed  his  four  sturdy  horses  to  the  wagon, 
and  set  off  before  the  first  streak  of  dawn  for  Columbia, 
on  the  Susquehanna.  Here  he  would  take  from  twelve  to 
sixteen  barrels  of  flour  (according  to  the  state  of  the 
roads)  and  haul  them,  a  two  days'  journey,  to  Newport,  on 
the  Christiana  River.  The  freight  of  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
barrel,  which  he  received,  yielded  him  what  in  those  days 
was  considered  a  handsome  profit  for  the  service,  and  it 
was  no  unusual  thing  for  farmers  who  were  in  possession 
of  a  suitable  team,  to  engage  in  the  business  whenever 
they  could  spare  the  time  from  their  own  fields. 

Since  the  evening  when  she  had  spoken  to  him,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  of  the  dismal  shadow  which  rested 
upon  their  names,  Mary  Potter  felt  that  there  was  an  inde- 
finable change  in  her  relation  to  her  son.  He  seemed  sud- 
denly drawn  nearer  to  her,  and  yet,  in  some  other  sense 
which  she  could  not  clearly  comprehend,  thrust  farther 
away.  His  manner,  always  kind  and  tender,  assumed  a 
shade  of  gentle  respect,  grateful  in  itself,  yet  disturbing, 
because  new  in  her  experience  of  him.  His  head  was 
slightly  lifted,  and  his  lips,  though  firm  as  ever,  less  rigidly 
compressed.     She  could  not  tell  how  it  was,  but  his  voice 


58  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

had  more  authority  in  her  ears.  She  had  never  before 
quite  disentangled  the  man  that  he  was  from  the  child  thai 
he  had  been ;  but  now  the  separation,  sharp,  sudden,  and 
final,  was  impressed  upon  her  mind.  Under  all  the  loneli- 
ness which  came  upon  her,  when  the  musical  bells  of  his 
team  tinkled  into  silence  beyond  the  hill,  there  lurked  a 
strange  sense  of  relief,  as  if  her  nature  would  more  readily 
adjust  itself  during  his  absence. 

Instead  of  accepting  the  day  with  its  duties,  as  a  suffi< 
cient  burden,  she  now  deliberately  reviewed  the  Past.  It 
would  give  her  pain,  she  knew ;  but  what  pain  could  she 
ever  feel  again,  comparable  to  that  which  she  had  so 
recently  suffered  ?  Long  she  brooded  over  that  bitter 
period  before,  and  immediately  succeeding  her  son's  birth, 
often  declaring  to  herself  how  fatally  she  had  erred,  and 
as  often  shaking  her  head  in  hopeless  renunciation  of  any 
present  escape  from  the  consequences  of  that  error.  She 
saw  her  position  clearly,  yet  it  seemed  that  she  had  so 
entangled  herself  in  the  meshes  of  a  merciless  Fate,  that 
the  only  reparation  she  could  claim,  either  for  herself  or 
her  son,  would  be  thrown  away  by  forestalling  —  after  such 
endless,  endless  submission  and  suffering  —  the  Event 
which  should  set  her  free. 

Then  she  recalled  and  understood,  as  never  before, 
Gilbert's  childhood  and  boyhood.  For  his  sake  she  had 
accepted  menial  service  in  families  where  he  was  looked 
upon  and  treated  as  an  incumbrance.  The  child,  it  had 
been  her  comfort  to  think,  was  too  young  to  know  or  feel 
this,  —  but  now,  alas !  the  remembrance  of  his  shyness  and 
sadness  told  her  a  different  tale.  So  nine  years  had  passed, 
and  she  was  then  forced  to  part  with  her  boy.  She  had 
bound  him  to  Farmer  Fairthom,  whose  good  heart,  and 
his  wife's,  she  well  knew,  and  now  she  worked  for  him, 
alone,  putting  by  her  savings  every  year,  and  stinting  her- 
self to  the  utmost  that  she  might  be  able  to  start  him  in 
life,  if  he  should  live  to  be  his  own  master.    Little  by  little^ 


THE  STOftY  OF  KENNETT.  69 

Uie  blot  upon  her  seemed  to  fade  out  or  be  forgotten,  and 
she  hoped  —  oh,  how  she  had  hoped !  —  that  he  might  be 
spared  the  knowledge  of  it. 

She  watched  him  grow  up,  a  boy  of  firm  will,  strong' 
temper,  yet  great  self-control ;  and  the  easy  Fairthom 
rule,  which  would  have  spoiled  a  youth  of  livelier  spirits, 
was,  providentially,  the  atmosphere  in  which  his  nature 
grew  more  serene  and  patient  He  was  steady,  industri- 
ous, and  faithful,  and  the  Fairthorns  loved  him  almost  as 
their  own  son.  When  he  reached  the  age  of  eighteen,  he 
was  allowed  many  important  privileges :  he  hauled  flour  to 
Newport,  having  a  share  of  the  profits,  and  in  other  ways 
earned  a  sum  which,  with  his  mother's  aid,  enabled  him  to 
buy  a  team  of  his  own,  on  coming  of  age. 

Two  years  more  of  this  weary,  lonely  labor,  and  the  one 
absorbing  aim  of  Mary  Potter's  life,  which  she  had  im- 
pressed upon  him  ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  under- 
stand it,  drew  near  fulfilment  The  farm  upon  which  they 
now  lived  was  sold,  and  Gilbert  became  the  purchaser. 
There  was  still  a  debt  of  a  thousand  dollars  upon  tlic 
property,  and  she  felt  that  until  it  was  paid,  they  possessed 
no  secure  home.  During  the  year  which  had  elapsed 
since  the  purchase,  Gilbert,  by  unwearied  labor,  had  laid 
up  about  four  hundred  dollars,  and  another  year,  he  had 
said,  if  he  should  prosper  in  his  plans,  would  see  them  free 
at  last !  Then,  —  let  the  world  say  what  it  chose  !  They 
had  fought  their  way  from  shame  and  poverty  to  honest 
independence,  and  the  respect  which  follows  success  would 
at  least  be  theirs. 

ITiis  was  always  the  consoling  thought  to  which  Marjf 
Potter  returned,  from  the  unallayed  trouble  of  her  mind. 
Day  by  day,  Gilbert's  new  figure  became  more  familiar, 
and  she  was  conscious  that  her  own  manner  towards  him 
must  change  with  it  The  subject  of  his  birth,  however, 
and  the  new  difficulties  with  which  it  beset  her,  would  not 
bfc  thrust  aside.     For  years  she  had  almost  ceased  to  thin> 


40  THE  STORT   OF  KENNETT. 

of  the  possible  release,  of  which  she  had  spoken  :  now  H 
returned  and  filled  her  with  a  strange,  restless  impatience. 

Gilbert,  also,  had  ample  time  to  review  his  own  position, 
during  the  fortnight's  absence.  After  passing  the  hills  and 
emerging  upon  the  long,  fertile  swells  of  Lancaster,  Ids 
experienced  leaders  but  rarely  needed  the  guidance  of  his 
hand  or  voice.  Often,  sunk  in  revery,  the  familiar  land- 
marks of  the  journey  went  by  unheeded ;  often  he  lay 
awake  in  the  crowded  bedroom  of  a  tavern,  striving  to 
clear  a  path  for  his  feet  a  little  way  into  the  future.  Only 
men  of  the  profoundest  culture  make  a  deliberate  study  of 
their  own  natures,  but  those  less  gifted  often  act  with  an 
equal  or  even  superior  wisdom,  because  their  qualities 
operate  spontaneously,  unwatched  by  an  introverted  eye. 
Such  men  may  be  dimly  conscious  of  certain  inconsisten- 
cies, or  unsolved  puzzles,  in  themselves,  but  instead  of  sit- 
ting down  to  unravel  them,  they  seek  the  easiest  way  to 
pass  by  and  leave  them  untouched.  For  them  the  material 
aspects  of  life  are  of  the  highest  importance,  and  a  true 
instinct  shows  them  that  beyond  the  merest  superficial  ac- 
quaintance with  their  own  natures  lie  deep  and  distiu'bing 
questions,  with  which  they  are  not  fitted  to  grapple. 

There  conies  a  time,  however,  to  every  young  man,  even 
the  most  uncultivated,  when  he  touches  one  of  the  primal, 
eternal  forces  of  life,  and  is  conscious  of  other  needs  and 
another  destiny.  This  time  had  come  to  Gilbert  Potter, 
forcing  him  to  look  upon  the  circumstances  of  his  life  from 
a  loftier  point  of  view.  He  had  struggled,  passionately 
but  at  random,  for  light,  —  but,  fortunately,  every  earnest 
struggle  is  towards  the  light,  and  it  now  began  to  dawn 
upon  him. 

He  fii^st  became  aware  of  one  enigma,  the  consideration 
of  which  was  not  so  easy  to  lay  aside.  His  mother  had 
not  been  deceived :  there  was  a  change  in  the  man  since 
that  evening.  Often  and  often,  in  gloomy  broodings  ovei 
hb  supposed  disgrace,  he  had  fiercely  asserted  to  himself 


THE  STORY   OF   K.ENNETT.  61 

that  he  was  free  from  stain,  and  the  unrespect  in  which  h-e 
stood  was  an  injustice  to  be  bravely  defied.  The  brand 
which  he  wore,  and  which  he  fancied  was  seen  by  every 
eye  he  met,  existed  in  his  own  fancy  ;  his  brow  was  as 
pure,  his  right  to  esteem  and  honor  equal,  to  that  of  any 
other  man.  But  it  was  impossible  to  act  upon  this  reason- 
ing ;  still  when  the  test  came  he  would  shrink  and  feel  the 
pain,  instead  of  trampling  it  under  his  feet. 

Now  that  the  brand  was  removed,  the  strength  which  he 
had  so  desperately  craved,  was  suddenly  his.  So  far  as 
the  world  was  concerned,  nothing  was  altered  ;  no  one 
knew  of  the  revelation  which  his  mother  had  made  to  him  ; 
he  was  still  the  child  of  her  shame,  but  this  knowledge 
was  no  longer  a  torture.  Now  he  had  a  right  to  respect, 
not  asserted  only  to  his  own  heart,  but  which  every  man 
would  acknowledge,  were  it  made  known.  He  was  no 
longer  a  solitary  individual,  protesting  against  prejudice 
and  custom.  Though  still  feeling  that  the  protest  was 
just,  and  that  his  new  courage  implied  some  weakness,  he 
could  not  conceal  from  himself  the  knowledge  that  this 
very  weakness  was  the  practical  fountain  of  his  strength. 
He  was  a  secret  and  unknown  unit  of  the  great  majority. 

There  was  another,  more  intimate  subject  which  the 
new  knowledge  touched  very  nearly ;  and  here,  also,  hope 
dawned  upon  a  sense  akin  to  despair.  With  all  the  force 
of  his  nature,  Gilbert  Potter  loved  Martha  Deane.  He 
had  known  her  since  he  was  a  boy  at  Fairthom's;  her 
face  had  always  been  the  brightest  in  his  memory ;  but  it 
was  only  since  the  purchase  of  the  farm  that  his  matured 
manhood  had  fully  recognized  its  answering  womanhood 
in  her.  He  was  slow  to  acknowledge  the  truth,  even  to 
his  own  heart,  and  when  it  could  no  longer  be  denied,  he 
locked  it  up  and  sealed  it  with  seven  seals,  determined 
never  to  betray  it,  to  her  or  any  one.  Then  arose  a  wild 
hope,  that  respect  might  come  with  the  independence  foi 
which  he  was  laboring,  and  perhaps  he  might  dare  to  draw 


62  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

nearer,  —  near  enough  to  guess  if  there  were  any  answei 
in  her  heart  It  was  a  frail  support,  but  he  clung  to  it  aa 
with  his  life,  for  there  was  none  other. 

Now,  —  although  his  uncertainty  was  as  great  as  ever, 
— his  approach  could  not  humiliate  her.  His  love  brought 
no  shadow  of  shame ;  it  was  proudly  white  and  clean.  Ah ! 
he  had  forgotten  that  she  did  not  know,  —  that  his  lips 
were  sealed  until  his  mother's  should  be  opened  to  the 
world.     The  curse  was  not  to  be  shaken  off  so  easily. 

By  the  time  he  had  twice  traversed  the  long,  weary  road 
between  Columbia  and  Newport,  Gilbert  reached  a  des- 
perate solution  of  this  difficulty.  The  end  of  his  meditar 
tions  was :  "  I  will  see  if  there  be  love  in  woman  as  in 
man!  —  love  that  takes  no  note  of  birth  or  station,  but, 
once  having  found  its  mate,  is  faithful  from  first  to  last." 
In  love,  an  honest  and  faithful  heart  touches  the  loftiest 
ideal.  Gilbert  knew  that,  were  the  case  reversed,  no  pos- 
sible test  could  shake  his  steadfast  affection,  and  how  else 
could  he  measure  the  quality  of  hers  ?  He  said  to  him- 
self: "Perhaps  it  is  cruel,  but  I  cannot  spare  her  the 
trial."  He  was  prouder  than  he  knew,  —  but  we  must 
remember  all  that  he  endured. 

It  was  a  dry,  windy  March  month,  that  year,  and  he 
made  four  good  trips  before  the  first  of  April.  Returning 
home  from  Newport,  by  way  of  Wilmington,  with  seventy- 
five  dollars  clear  profit  in  his  pocket,  his  prospects  seemed 
very  cheerful.  Could  he  accomplish  two  more  months  of 
hauling  during  the  year,  and  the  crops  should  be  fair,  the 
money  from  these  sources,  and  the  sale  of  his  wagon  and 
one  span,  would  be  something  more  than  enough  to  dis- 
charge the  remaining  debt.  He  knew,  moreover,  how  the 
farm  could  be  more  advantageously  worked,  having  used 
his  eyes  to  good  purpose  in  passing  through  the  rich,  abun- 
dant fields  of  Lancaster.  The  land  once  his  own,  —  which, 
like  his  mother,  he  could  not  yet  feel,  —  his  future,  in  a 
material  sense,  was  assured. 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  6t 

Before  reaching  .he  Buck  Tavern,  he  overtook  a  woman 
plodding  slowly  along  the  road.  Her  rusty  beaver  hat, 
tied  down  over  her  ears,  and  her  faded  gown,  were  in  sin- 
gular contrast  to  the  shining  new  scarlet  shawl  upon  her 
shoulders.  As  she  stopped  and  turned,  at  the  sound  of  his 
tinkling  bells,  she  showed  a  hard  red  face,  not  devoid  of  a 
certain  coarse  beauty,  and  he  recognized  Deb.  Smith,  a 
lawless,  irregular  creature,  well  known  about  Kennett. 

"  Good-day,  Deborah  !  "  said  he  ;  "  if  you  are  going  my 
way,  I  can  give  you  a  lift." 

♦*  He  calls  me  '  Deborah,' "  she  muttered  to  herself;  then 
aloud  —  "  Ay,  and  thank  ye,  I^Ir.  Gilbert" 

Seizing  the  tail  of  the  near  horse  with  one  hand,  she 
sprang  upon  the  wagon-tongue,  and  the  next  moment 
sat  upon  the  board  at  his  side.  Then,  rummaging  in  a 
deep  pocket,  she  produced,  one  afl«r  the  other,  a  short 
black  pipe,  an  eel-skin  tobacco-pouch,  flint,  tinder,  and 
a  clumsy  knife.  With  a  dexterity  which  could  only  have 
come  from  long  habit,  she  prepared  and  kindled  the 
weed,  and  was  presently  puffing  forth  rank  streams,  with 
an  air  of  the  deepest  satisfaction. 

«  Which  way  ?  "  asked  Gilbert 

"  Your  *n,  as  far  as  you  go,  —  always  providin'  you  takes 
me." 

"  Of  course,  Deborah,  you  're  welcome.  I  have  no  load, 
you  see." 

"  Mighty  clever  in  you,  Mr.  Gilbert ;  but  you  always 
was  one  o'  the  clever  ones.  Them  as  thinks  themselvea 
better  bom  "  — 

"  Come,  Deborah,  none  of  that ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"Ax  your  pardon,"  she  said,  and  smoked  her  pipe  in 
silence.  When  she  had  finished  and  knocked  the  ashes 
out  against  the  front  panel  of  the  wagon,  she  spoke  again, 
in  a  hard,  bitter  voice,  — 

"'T  is  n't  much  difference  what  /  am.  I  was  raised  on 
hard  knocks,  and  now  I  must  git  my  livin'  by  'em.    But  I 


Cl  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

axes  no  'un  's  help,  I  *m  that  proud,  anyways.  1  go  mj 
own  road,  and  a  straighter  one,  too,  damme,  than  I  gil 
credit  for,  but  I  let  other  people  go  their 'n.  You  might 
have  wuss  company  than  me,  though  /  say  it" 

These  words  hinted  at  an  inward  experience  in  some 
respects  so  surprisingly  like  his  own,  that  Gilbert  was 
startled.  He  knew  the  reputation  of  the  woman,  tliougb 
he  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  tell  whereupon  it  was 
based.  Everybody  said  she  was  bad,  and  nobody  knew 
particularly  why.  She  lived  alone,  in  a  log-cabin  in  the 
woods ;  did  washing  and  house-cleaning ;  worked  in  the 
harvest-fields ;  smoked,  and  took  her  gill  of  whiskey  with 
the  best  of  them,  —  but  other  vices,  though  inferred,  were 
not  proven.  Involuntarily,  he  contrasted  her  position,  in 
this  respect,  with  his  own.  The  world,  he  had  recently 
learned,  was  wrong  in  his  case  ;  might  it  not  also  be  doing 
her  injustice  ?  Her  pride,  in  its  coarse  way,  was  his  also, 
and  his  life,  perhaps,  had  only  unfolded  into  honorable 
success  through  a  mother's  ever-watchful  care  and  never- 
wearied  toil. 

"  Deborah,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  no  man  or  woman 
who  makes  an  honest  living  by  hard  work,  is  bad  company 
for  me.  I  am  trying  to  do  the  same  thing  that  you  are, — 
to  be  independent  of  others.  It 's  not  an  easy  thing  for 
xnybody,  starting  from  nothing,  but  I  can  guess  that  i< 
Must  be  much  harder  for  you  than  for  me." 

"  Yes,  you  're  a  man  !  "  she  cried.  "  Would  to  God  I  'd 
been  one,  too !  A  man  can  do  everything  that  1  do,  and 
it's  all  right  and  proper.  Why  did  the  Lord  give  me 
strength  ?  Look  at  that !  "  She  bared  her  right  arm  — 
hard,  knitted  muscle  from  wrist  to  shoulder  —  and  clenched 
her  fist.  "  What 's  that  for  ?  —  not  for  a  woman,  I  say 
I  could  take  two  of  'em  by  the  necks  and  pitch  'em  over 
yon  fence.  I  've  felled  an  Irishman  like  an  ox  when  he 
called  me  names.  The  anger 's  in  me,  and  the  boldness 
«uid  the  roughness,  and  the  cursin' ;  I  did  n't  nut  'em  there 


THE   STORY   OF   KENSETT.  65 

and  I  can't  git  'em  out  now,  if  I  tried  ever  so  much.  Why 
did  they  snatch  the  sewin'  from  me  when  I  wanted  to 
learn  women's  work,  and  send  me  out  to  yoke  th'  oxen  ? 
I  do  believe  I  was  a  gal  onct,  a  six-month  or  so,  but  it  'a 
over  long  ago.     I  've  been  a  man  ever  since  1 " 

She  took  a  bottle  out  of  her  pocket,  and  ofTernd  it  to 
Gilbert  When  he  refused,  she  simply  said :  "  You  're 
right ! "  set  it  to  her  mouth,  and  drank  long  and  deeply. 
There  was  a  wild,  painful  gleam  of  truth  in  her  wordsi 
which  touched  his  sympathy.  How  should  he  dare  to 
judge  this  unfortunate  creature,  not  knowing  what  per- 
verse freak  of  nature,  and  untoward  circumstances  of  life 
had  combined  to  make  her  what  she  was?  His  manner 
towards  her  was  kind  and  serious,  and  by  degrees  this 
covert  respect  awoke  in  her  a  desire  to  deserve  it  She 
spoke  calmly  and  soberly,  exhibiting  a  wonderful  knowl- 
edge as  they  rode  onwards,  not  only  of  farming,  but  of 
animals,  trees,  and  plants. 

The  team,  knowing  that  home  and  rest  were  near, 
marched  cheerily  up  and  down  the  hills  along  the  border, 
and  before  sunset  emerging  from  the  woods,  they  over- 
looked the  little  valley,  the  mill,  and  the  nestling  farm- 
house. An  Indian  war-whoop  rang  across  the  meadow, 
and  Gilbert  recognized  Sam's  welcome  therein. 

"Now,  Deborah,"  said  he,  "you  shall  stop  and  have 
some  supper,  before  you  go  any  farther." 

"  I  'm  obliged,  all  the  same,"  said  she,  "  but  I  must  push 
on.  I  've  to  go  beyond  the  Square,  and  could  n't  wait 
But  tell  your  mother  if  she  wants  a  man's  arm  in  house- 
cleanin'  time  to  let  me  know.  And,  Mr.  Gilbert,  let  me 
say  one  thing  :  give  me  your  hand." 

The  horses  had  stopped  to  drink  at  the  creek.  He  gave 
hei  his  right  hand. 

She  held  it  in  hers  a  moment,  gazing  intently  on  the 
palm.  Then  she  bent  her  head  and  blew  upon  it  gently, 
three  times. 


66  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

"  Never  mind :  it 's  my  fancy,"  she  said.  "  You  *re  H)ni 
for  trial  and  good-luck,  but  the  trials  come  first,  all  of  a 
heap,  and  the  good  luck  afterwards.  You  've  got  a  frieiid 
in  Deb.  Smith,  if  you  ever  need  one.     Good-bye  to  ye  !  " 

With  these  words  she  sprang  from  the  wagon,  and 
trudged  off  silently  up  the  hill.  The  horses  turned  of 
themselves  into  the  lane  leading  to  the  bam,  and  Gilben 
assisted  Sam  in  unharnessing  and  feeding  them  before 
entering  the  house.  By  the  time  he  was  ready  to  greet  his 
mother,  and  enjoy,  without  further  care,  his  first  evening  at 
home,  he  knew  everything  that  had  occurred  on  the  &ran 
during  his  absence. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  ST 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

OLD    KENNETT    MEETING. 

Os  the  Sunday  succeeding  his  return,  Gilbert  Potter 
proposed  to  his  mother  that  they  should  attend  the  Friends' 
Meeting  at  Old  Kennett 

The  Quaker  element,  we  have  already  stated,  largely 
predominated  in  this  part  of  the  county ;  and  even  the 
many  families  who  were  not  actually  members  of  the  sect 
were  strongly  colored  with  its  peculiar  characteristics. 
Though  not  generally  using  "  the  plain  speech "  among 
themselves,  they  invariably  did  so  towards  Quakers,  varied 
but  little  from  the  latter  in  dress  and  habits,  and,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  regularly  attended  their  worship.  In  fact, 
no  other  religious  attendance  was  possible,  without  a  Sab- 
bath journey  too  long  for  the  well-used  farm-horses.  To 
this  class  belonged  Gilbert  and  his  mother,  the  Fairthoms, 
and  even  the  Bartons.  Farmer  Fairthorn  had  a  birth- 
right, it  is  true,  until  his  marriage,  which  having  been  a 
stolen  match,  and  not  performed  according  to  "  Friends' 
ceremony,"  occasioned  his  excommunication.  He  might 
have  been  restored  to  the  rights  of  membership  by  admit- 
ting his  sorrow  for  the  offence,  but  this  he  stoutly  refused 
to  do.  The  predicament  was  not  an  unusual  one  in  the 
neighborhood ;  but  a  few,  among  whom  was  Dr.  Deane, 
Martha's  father,  submitted  to  the  required  humiliation.  As 
this  did  not  take  place,  however,  until  after  her  birth,  Mar- 
tha was  still  without  the  pale,  and  preferred  to  remain  so, 
for  two  reasons :  first,  that  a  scoop  bonnet  was  monstrous 
)n  a  young  woman's  head ;  and  second,  that  she  was  pas- 


68  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Bionately  fond  of  music,  and  saw  no  harm  in  a  dance. 
Tliis  determination  of  hers  was,  as  her  father  expressed 
himself,  a  "  great  cross  "  to  him ;  but  she  had  a  habit  of 
paralyzing  his  argument  by  turning  against  him  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Friends  in  regard  to  forms  and  ceremonies, 
and  their  reliance  on  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit. 

Herein  Martha  was  strictly  logical,  and  though  she,  and 
others  who  belonged  to  the  same  class,  were  sometimes 
characterized,  by  a  zealous  Quaker,  in  moments  of  bitter- 
ness, as  being  "the. world's  people,"  they  were  generally 
regarded,  not  only  with  tolerance,  but  in  a  spirit  of  frater- 
nity. The  high  seats  in  the  gallery  were  not  for  them,  but 
they  were  free  to  any  other  part  of  the  meeting-house  dur- 
ing life,  and  to  a  grave  in  the  grassy  and  briery  enclosure 
adjoining,  when  dead.  The  necessity  of  belonging  to  some 
organized  church  was  recognized  but  faintly,  if  at  all ;  pro- 
vided their  lives  were  honorable,  they  were  considered  very 
fair  Christians. 

Mary  Potter  but  rarely  attended  meeting,  not  from  any 
lack  of  the  need  of  worship,  but  because  she  shrank  with 
painful  timidity  from  appearing  in  the  presence  of  the  as- 
sembled neighborhood.  She  was,  nevertheless,  grateful  for 
Gilbert's  success,  and  her  heart  inclined  to  thanksgiving ; 
besides,  he  desired  that  they  should  go,  and  she  was  not 
able  to  offer  any  valid  objection.  So,  after  breakfast,  the 
two  best  horses  of  the  team  were  very  carefully  groomed, 
saddled,  and  —  Sam  having  been  sent  off  on  a  visit  to  his 
father,  with  the  house-key  in  his  pocket  —  the  mother  and 
son  took  the  road  up  the  creek. 

Both  were  plainly,  yet  very  respectably,  dressed,  in  gar- 
ments of  the  same  home-made  cloth,  of  a  deep,  dark  brown 
color,  but  Mary  Potter  wore  under  her  cloak  the  new  crape 
shawl  which  Gilbert  had  brought  to  her  from  Wilmington, 
and  his  shirt  of  fine  linen  displayed  a  modest  ruffle  in  front 
The  resemblance  in  their  faces  was  even  more  stronglj 
marked,  in  the  common  expression  of  calm,  grave  repose 


THE   STORY   OF    KENNETT.  19 

which  sprang  from  the  nature  of  their  journey.  A  sirangef 
meeting  them  that  morning,  would  have  seen  that  they 
were  persons  of  unusual  force  of  character,  and  bound  to 
each  other  by  an  unusual  tie. 

Up  the  lovely  valley,  or  rather  glen,  watered  by  the  east- 
em  branch  of  Redley  Creek,  they  rode  to  the  main  high- 
way. It  was  an  early  spring,  and  the  low-lying  fields  were 
already  green  with  the  young  grass ;  the  weeping-willows 
in  front  of  the  farm-houses  seemed  to  spout  up  and  fall  like 
broad  enormous  geysers  as  the  wind  swayed  them,  and 
daflfodils  bloomed  in  all  the  warmer  gardens.  The  dark 
foliage  of  the  cedars  skiiting  the  road  counteracted  that 
indefinable  gloom  which  the  landscapes  of  early  spring,  in 
their  gra^ness  and  incompleteness,  so  often  inspire,  and 
mocked  the  ripened  summer  in  the  close  shadows  which 
they  threw.  It  was  a  pleasant  ride,  especially  after  mother 
and  son  had  reached  the  main  road,  and  other  horsemen 
and  horsewomen  issued  from  the  gates  of  farms  on  either 
side,  taking  their  way  to  the  meeting-house.  Only  two  or 
three  families  could  boast  vehicles,  —  heavy,  ciunbrous 
"  chairs,"  as  they  were  called,  with  a  convex  canopy  resting 
on  four  stout  pillars,  and  the  bulging  body  swinging  from 
side  to  side  on  huge  springs  of  wood  and  leather.  No 
healthy  man  or  woman,  however,  unless  he  or  she  were 
very  old,  travelled  otherwise  than  on  horseback. 

Now  and  then  exchanging  grave  but  kindly  nods  with 
their  acquaintances,  they  rode  slowly  along  the  level  up- 
land, past  the  Anvil  Tavern,  through  Logtown,  —  a  cluster 
of  primitive  cabins  at  the  junction  of  the  Wilmington  Road, 
—  and  reached  the  meeting-house  in  good  season.  Gil 
bert  assisted  hi>  mother  to  alight  at  the  stone  platform 
built  for  that  purpose  near  the  women's  end  of  the  build- 
ing, and  then  fastened  the  horses  in  the  long,  open  shed  in 
the  rear.  Then,  as  was  the  custom,  he  entered  by  the 
oien's  door,  and  quietly  took  a  seat  in  the  silent  assembly. 

The  stiff,  unpainted  benches  were  filled  with  the  congre- 


W*  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

gation,  young  and  old,  wearing  their  hats,  and  with  a  stolid, 
drowsy  look  upon  their  faces.  Over  a  high  wooden  parti 
tron  the  old  women  in  the  gallery,  but  not  the  young  women 
on  the  floor  of  the  house,  could  be  seen.  Two  stoves,  with 
interminable  lengths  of  pipe,  suspended  by  wires  from  the 
ceiling,  created  a  stifling  f^mperature.  Every  slight  sound 
or  motion,  —  the  moving  of  a  foot,  the  drawing  forth  of  a 
pocket-handkerchief^  the  lifting  or  lowering  of  a  head,  — 
seemed  to  disturb  the  quiet  as  with  a  shock,  and  drew 
many  of  the  younger  eyes  upon  it ;  while  in  front,  like 
the  guardian  statues  of  an  Egyptian  temple,  sat  the  older 
members,  with  their  hands  upon  their  knees  or  clasped 
across  their  laps.     Their  faces  were  grave  and  severe. 

After  nearly  an  hour  of  this  suspended  animation,  an  old 
Friend  rose,  removed  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  placing 
his  hands  upon  the  rail  before  him,  began  slowly  swaying 
to  and  fro,  while  he  spoke.  As  he  rose  into  the  chant  pe- 
culiar to  the  sect,  intoning  alike  his  quotations  from  the 
Psalms  and  his  utterances  of  plain,  practical  advice,  an  ex- 
pression of  quiet  but  almost  luxurious  satisfaction  stole 
over  the  faces  of  his  aged  brethren.  With  half-closed  eyes 
and  motionless  bodies,  they  drank  in  the  sound  like  a  rich 
draught,  with  a  sense  of  exquisite  refreshment  A  close 
connection  of  ideas,  a  logical  derivation  of  argument  from 
text,  would  have  aroused  their  suspicions  that  the  speaker 
depended  rather  upon  his  own  active,  conscious  intellect, 
than  upon  the  moving  of  the  Spirit ;  but  this  aimless  wan- 
dering of  a  half-awake  soul  through  the  cadences  of  a  Ian  ■ 
guage  which  was  neither  song  nor  speech,  was,  to  tbeii 
minds,  the  evidence  of  genuine  inspiration. 

When  the  old  man  sat  down,  a  woman  arose  and  chanted 
forth  the  suggestions  which  had  come  to  her  in  the  silence, 
in  a  voice  of  wonderful  sweetness  and  strength.  Here 
Music  seemed  to  revenge  herself  for  the  slight  done  to  her 
by  the  sect.  The  ears  of  the  hearers  were  so  charmed  by 
the  purity  of  tone,  and  the  delicate,  rhythmical  cadencei 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  ?1 

of  the  sentences,  that  much  of  the  wise  lessons  repeated 
Grom  week  to  week  failed  to  reach  their  consciousness. 

After  another  interval  of  silence,  the  two  oldest  men 
reached  their  hands  to  each  other,  —  a  sign  which  the 
younger  members  had  anxiously  awaited.  The  spell  snap- 
ped in  an  instant :  all  arose  and  moved  into  the  open  air, 
where  all  things  at  first  appeared  to  wear  the  same  aspect 
of  solemnity.  The  poplar-trees,  the  stone  wall,  the  bushes 
in  the  comers  of  the  fence,  looked  grave  and  respectful 
for  a  few  minutes.  Neighbors  said,  "  How  does  thee  do?" 
to  each  other,  in  subdued  voices,  and  there  was  a  conscien- 
tious shaking  of  hands  all  around  before  they  dared  to  in- 
dulge in  much  conversation. 

Gradually,  however,  all  returned  to  the  out-door  world 
and  its  interests.  The  fences  became  so  many  posts  and 
rails  once  more,  the  bushes  so  many  elders  and  black- 
berries to  be  cut  away,  and  the  half-green  fields  so  much 
sod  for  corn-ground.  Opinions  in  regard  to  the  weather 
and  the  progress  of  spring  labor  were  freely  interchanged, 
and  the  few  unimportant  items  of  social  news,  which  had 
collected  in  seven  days,  were  gravely  distributed.  This 
was  at  the  men's  end  of  the  meeting-house ;  on  their  side, 
the  women  were  similarly  occupied,  but  we  can  only  con- 
jecture the  subjects  of  their  conversation.  The  young 
men  —  as  is  generally  the  case  in  religious  sects  of  a  rigid 
and  clannish  character  —  were  by  no  means  handsome. 
Their  faces  all  bore  the  stamp  of  repression,  in  some  form 
or  other,  and  as  they  talked  their  eyes  wandered  with 
an  expression  of  melancholy  longing  and  timidity  towards 
the  sweet,  maidenly  faces,  whose  bloom,  and  pure,  gentle 
beauty  not  even  their  hideous  bonnets  could  obscure. 

One  by  one  the  elder  men  came  up  to  the  stone  plat- 
form with  the  stable  old  horses  which  their  wives  were  to 
ride  home  ;  the  huge  chair,  in  which  sat  a  privileged  couple, 
creaked  and  swayed  from  side  to  side,  as  it  rolled  with 
ponderous  dignity  from  the  yard ;  and  now,  while  the  girlf 


THE  8TOBT    OF  KENNETT. 

raiting  their  tiim^  the  grave  joung  men  plucked  xtp 
courage,  wandered  nearer,  greeted,  exchanged  words,  and 
so  were  helped  into  an  atmosphere  of  youth. 

Gilbert,  approaching  with  them,  was  first  recognized  by 
his  old  friend,  Sally  Fairthom,  who6e  voice  of  salutatioK 
was  so  lotid  and  cheery,  as  to  cause  two  or  thiee  sedate 
old  "  women-friends  "  to  turn  their  heads  in  grave  astonish- 
ment Mother  Fairthom,  with  her  bright,  round  face, 
followed,  and  then  —  serene  and  strong  in  her  gentle* 
symmetrical  loveliness  —  Martha  Deane.  Gilbert's  haad 
throbbed,  as  he  held  hers  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  sweet 
blue  of  her  eyes ;  yet,  paanonately  as  he  felt  that  he  loved 
her  in  that  moment,  perfect  as  was  the  delight  of  her  pres- 
ence, a  better  joy  came  to  his  heart  when  she  turned  away 
to  speak  with  his  mother.  Mark  Deane  —  a  young  giant 
with  curly  yellow  locks,  and  a  broad,  laughing  mouth  — 
had  just  placed  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  could 
not  watch  the  bearing  of  the  two  women  to  each  other ; 
but  all  his  soul  listened  to  their  voices,  and  he  heard  in 
Martha  Deane's  the  kindly  courtesy  and  respect  which  he 
did  not  see. 

Mother  Fairthom  and  Sally  so  cordially  in^sted  that 
Mary  Potter  and  her  son  should  ride  home  with  them  to 
dinner,  that  no  denial  was  possible.  Wlien  the  horses 
were  brought  up  to  the  block  the  yard  was  nearly  emptjr, 
and  the  returning  procession  was  already  winding  up  the 
bill  Upwards  Logtown. 

"  Come,  Mary,"  said  Mother  Fairthom,  "  you  and  I  will 
ride  together,  and  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  your  ducks 
and  turkeys.  The  young  folks  can  get  along  without  tis, 
I  guess." 

Martha  Deane  had  ridden  to  meeting  in  company  with 
oer  cou«»n  Mark  and  Sally,  but  the  order  of  the  homeward 
ride  was  fated  to  be  different.  Joe  and  Jake,  bestriding 
s  single  horse,  like  two  of  the  Ilaymon's-children,  were 
growing  irpatient,  so  they  took  the  responsibility  of  dasV 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  78 

Ing  up  to  JIark  and  Sally,  who  were  waiting  in  the  road, 
«nd  announcing,  — 

«  C!ousin  Martha  says  we  're  to  go  on ;  she  11  ride  with 
Gilbert" 

Both  well  knew  the  pranks  of  the  boys,  but  perhaps  they 
found  the  message  well-invented  if  not  true ;  foi  they 
obeyed  with  secret  alacrity,  although  Sally  made  a  be:om- 
ing  show  of  reluctance.  Before  they  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  hollow,  Joe  and  Jake,  seeing  two  school-mates  in 
advance,  similarly  mounted,  dashed  off  in  a  canter,  to  over^ 
take  them,  and  the  two  were  left  alone. 

Gilbert  and  Martha  naturally  followed,  since  not  more 
than  two  could  conveniently  ride  abreast  But  their  move- 
ments were  so  quiet  and  deliberate,  and  the  accident  which 
threw  them  together  was  accepted  so  simply  and  calmly 
that  no  one  could  guess  what  warmth  of  longing,  of  rever- 
ential tenderness,  beat  in  every  muffled  throb  of  one  of  the 
two  hearts. 

Martha  was  an  admirable  horsewoman,  and  her  slender, 
pliant  figure  never  showed  to  greater  advantage  than  in 
the  saddle.  Her  broad  beaver  hat  was  tied  down  over  the 
ears,  throwing  a  cool  gray  shadow  across  her  clear,  joyous 
eyes  and  fresh  cheeks.  A  pleasanter  face  never  touched 
a  young  man's  fancy,  and  every  time  it  turned  towards 
Gilbert  it  brightened  away  the  distress  of  love.  He  caught, 
unconsciously,  the  serenity  of  her  mood,  and  foretasted  the 
peace  which  her  being  would  bring  to  him  if  it  were  ever 
intrusted  to  his  hands. 

"  Did  you  do  well  by  your  hauling,  Gilbert,"  she  asked, 
**  and  are  you  now  home  for  the  summer  ?  " 

♦'Until  after  corn-planting,"  he  answered.  "Then  I 
must  take  two  or  three  weeks,  as  the  season  turns  out  I 
am  not  able  to  give  up  my  team  yet" 

"  But  you  soon  will  be,  I  hope.  It  must  be  very  loiielj 
for  your  mother  to  be  on  the  farm  without  you." 

These  words  touched  him  gratefully,  and  led  him  to  ■ 


74  THB  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

candid  openness  of  speech  which  he  would  not  otherwise 
have  ventured,  —  not  from  any  inherent  lack  of  candor 
but  from  a  reluctance  to  speak  of  himself. 

"  That 's  it,  Martha,"  he  said.  "  It  is  her  work  that  1 
have  the  farm  at  all,  and  I  only  go  away  the  oftener  now, 
that  I  may  the  sooner  stay  with  her  altogether.  The 
thought  of  her  makes  each  trip  lonelier  than  the  last" 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,  Gilbert.  And  it  must  be 
a  comfort  to  you,  withal,  to  know  that  you  are  working 
as  much  for  your  mother's  sake  as  your  own.  I  think  I 
should  feel  so,  at  least,  in  your  place.  I  feel  my  own  moth- 
er's loss  more  now  than  when  she  died,  for  I  was  then  so 
young  that  I  can  only  just  remember  her  face." 

"  But  you  have  a  father !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  the  words 
were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  before  he  became  aware 
of  their  significance,  uttered  by  his  lips.  He  had  not 
meant  so  much,  —  only  that  she,  like  him,  still  enjoyed 
one  parent's  care.  The  blood  came  into  his  face ;  she  saw 
and  understood  the  sign,  and  broke  a  silence  which  would 
soon  have  become  painful. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  very  grateful  that  he  is 
spared ;  but  we  seem  to  belong  most  to  our  mothers." 

"  That  is  the  truth,"  he  said  firmly,  lifting  his  head  with 
the  impulse  of  his  recovered  pride,  and  meeting  hi  r  eyes 
without  flinching.  "  I  belong  altogether  to  mine.  She  has 
made  me  a  man  and  set  me  upon  my  feet.  From  this  time 
forward,  my  place  is  to  stand  between  her  and  the  world !  " 

Martha  Deane's  blood  throbbed  an  answer  to  this  asser- 
tion of  himself  A  sympathetic  pride  beamed  in  her  eyes ; 
she  slightl}  bent  her  head,  in  answer,  without  speaking, 
and  Gilbert  felt  that  he  was  understood  and  valued.  He 
had  drawn  a  step  nearer  to  the  trial  which  he  had  resolved 
to  make,  and  would  now  venture  no  further. 

There  was  a  glimmering  spark  of  courage  in  his  heart 
He  was  surprised,  in  recalling  the  conversation  afterwards, 
to  find  how  much  of  his  plans  he  had  communicated  to  her 


FHE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  7b 

during  the  ride,  encouraged  by  the  kindly  interest  she 
manifested,  and  the  sensible  comments  she  uttered.  Joe 
and  Jake,  losing  their  mates  at  a  cross-road,  and  finding 
Sally  and  Mark  Deane  not  very  lively  company  for  thero, 
rode  back  and  disturbed  these  confidences,  but  not  until 
they  had  drawn  the  two  into  a  relation  of  acknowledged 
mutual  interest. 

Martha  Deane  had  always,  as  she  confessed  to  Sally, 
liked  Gilbert  Potter ;  she  liked  every  young  man  of  charac- 
ter and  energy ;  but  now  she  began  to  suspect  that  there 
was  a  rarer  worth  m  his  nature  than  she  had  guessed. 
From  that  day  he  was  more  frequently  the  guest  of  her 
thoughts  than  ever  before.  Instinct,  in  him,  had  performed 
the  same  service  which  men  of  greater  experience  of  the 
world  would  have  reached  through  keen  perception  and 
carefiil  tact,  —  in  confiding  to  her  his  position,  his  labors 
and  hopes,  material  as  was  the  theme  and  seemingly  un- 
suited  to  the  occasion,  he  had  in  reality  appreciated  the 
serious,  reflective  nature  underlying  her  girlish  grace  and 
gayety.  What  other  young  man  of  her  acquaintance,  she 
asked  herself,  would  have  done  the  same  thing  ? 

When  they  reached  Kennett  Square,  Mother  Fairthom 
urged  Martha  to  accompany  them,  and  Sally  impetuously 
seconded  the  invitation.  Dr.  Deane's  horse  was  at  his 
door,  however,  and  his  daughter,  with  her  eyes  on  Gilbert, 
as  if  saying  "  for  my  father's  sake,"  steadfastly  declined. 
Mark,  however,  took  her  place,  but  there  never  had  been, 
or  could  be,  too  many  guests  at  the  Fairthom  table. 

When  they  reached  the  garden-wall,  Sally  sprang  from 
her  horse  with  such  haste  that  her  skirt  caught  on  the 
pommel  and  left  her  hanging,  being  made  of  stuff"  too  stout 
to  tear.  It  was  well  that  Gilbert  was  near,  on  the  same 
gide,  and  disengaged  her  in  an  instant;  but  her  troubles 
did  not  end  here.  As  she  bustled  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen, 
preparing  the  dinner-table  in  the  long  sitting-room,  the 
hooks  and  door-handles  seemed  to  have  an  miaccouitable 


76  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

habit  of  thrusting  themselves  in  her  way,  and  she  itat 
ready  to  cry  at  each  glance  of  Mark's  laughing  eyes.  She 
had  never  heard  the  German  proverb,  "  who  loves,  teases," 
and  was  too  inexperienced,  as  yet,  to  have  discovered  the 
feet  for  herself. 

Presently  they  all  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  after  the  first 
solemn  quiet,  —  no  one  venturing  to  eat  or  speak  until  the 
plates  of  all  had  been  heaped  with  a  little  of  everything 
upon  the  table,  —  the  meal  became  very  genial  and  pleas- 
wit.  A  huge  brown  pitcher  of  stinging  cider  added  its 
mild  stimulus  to  the  calm  country  blood,  and  under  its 
mellowing  influence  Mark  announced  the  most  important 
fact  of  his  life, —  he  was  to  have  the  building  of  Hallo  well's 
bam. 

As  Gilbert  and  his  mother  rode  homewards,  that  after- 
noon, neither  spoke  much,  but  both  felt,  in  some  indefinite 
«ar,  better  prepared  for  the  life  that  lay  before  them. 


THE  STtBY   OF  KENNETT.  77 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

AT    DB.   DEANE's. 

As  she  dismounted  on  the  large  flat  stone  outside  the 
poling,  Martha  Deane  saw  her  father's  face  at  the  window. 
It  was  sterner  and  graver  than  usual. 

Tlie  Deane  mansion  stood  opposite  the  Unicom  Tavern. 
When  built,  ninety  years  previous,  it  had  been  considered 
a  triumph  of  architecture  ;  the  material  was  squared  logs 
from  the  forest,  dovetailed,  and  overlapping  at  the  corners, 
which  had  the  effect  of  rustic  quoins,  as  contrasted  with 
the  front,  which  was  plastered  and  yellow-washed.  A 
small  portico,  covered  with  a  tangled  mass  of  eglantine 
and  coral  honeysuckle,  with  a  bench  at  each  end,  led  to 
the  door ;  and  the  ten  feet  of  space  between  it  and  the 
front  paling  were  devoted  to  flowers  and  rose-bushes.  At 
each  corner  of  the  front  rose  an  old,  picturesque,  strag- 
gling cedar-tree. 

There  were  two  front  doors,  side  by  side,  —  one  for  the 
family  sitting-room,  the  other  (rarely  opened,  except  when 
guests  arrived)  for  the  parlor.  Martha  Deane  entered  the 
former,  and  we  will  enter  with  her. 

The  room  was  nearly  square,  and  lighted  by  two  win- 
dows. On  those  sides  the  logs  were  roughly  plastered ; 
on  the  others  there  were  partitions  of  panelled  oak,  nearly 
black  with  age  and  smoke,  as  were  the  heavy  beams  of 
the  same  wood  which  formed  the  ceiling.  In  the  comer 
of  the  room  next  the  kitchen  there  was  an  open  Frank- 
lin stove,  —  an  innovation  at  that  time,  —  upon  which  two 
or  three  hickory  sticks  were  smouldering  into  snowy  ashe& 


tt  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  a  country-ma9e  rag  carpet,  in 
which  an  occasional  strip  of  red  or  blue  listing  bright 
ened  the  prevailing  walnut  color  of  the  woof.  The  furni- 
ture was  simple  and  massive,  its  only  unusual  feature  being 
a  tall  cabinet  with  shelves  filled  with  glass  jars,  and  an  in- 
finity of  small  drawers.  A  few  bulky  volumes  on  the  lower 
ihelf  constituted  the  medical  library  of  Dr.  Deane. 

This  gentleman  was  still  standing  at  the  window,  with 
his  hands  clasped  across  his  back.  His  Quaker  suit  was 
of  the  finest  drab  broadcloth,  and  the  plain  cravat  visible 
above  his  high,  straight  waistcoat,  was  of  spotless  cam- 
bric. His  knee-  and  shoe-buckles  were  of  the  simplest 
pattern,  but  of  good,  solid  silver,  and  there  was  not  a 
wrinkle  in  the  stockings  of  softest  lamb's-wool,  which  cov- 
ered his  massive  calves.  There  was  always  a  faint  odor 
of  lavender,  bergamot,  or  sweet  maijoram  about  him,  and 
it  was  a  common  remark  in  the  neighborhood  that  the 
sight  and  smell  of  the  Doctor  helped  a  weak  patient  almost 
as  much  as  his  medicines. 

In  his  face  there  was  a  curious  general  resemblance  to 
his  daughter,  though  the  detached  features  were  very  dif- 
ferently formed.  Large,  unsymmetrical,  and  somewhat 
coarse,  —  even  for  a  man,  —  they  derived  much  of  their 
effect  from  his  scrupulous  attire  and  studied  air  of  wisdom. 
His  long  gray  hair  was  combed  back,  that  no  portion  of 
the  moderate  frontal  brain  might  be  covered ;  the  eyes 
were  gray  rather  than  blue,  and  a  habit  of  concealment 
had  marked  its  lines  in  the  corners,  unlike  the  open,  perfect 
frankness  of  his  dsiughter's.  The  principal  resemblance 
was  in  the  firm,  clear  outline  of  the  upper  lip,  which  alone, 
in  his  face,  had  it  been  supported  by  the  under  one,  would 
have  made  him  almost  handsome ;  but  the  latter  was 
large  and  slightly  hanging.  There  were  marked  incon- 
sistencies in  his  face,  but  this  was  no  disadvantage  in  a 
community  unaccustomed  to  studying  the  extem.'U  marks 
of  character. 


THE  STORY  ot    KEJfNETT.  79 

*  Jiist  home,  father  ?  How  did  thee  leave  Dinah  Pas»- 
more  ?  "  asked  Martha,  as  she  untied  the  strings  of  hei 
beaver. 

"  Better,"  he  answered,  turning  from  the  window ;  "  but^ 
Martha,  who  did  I  see  thee  riding  with  ?  " 

"  Does  thee  mean  Gilbert  Potter  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  he  said,  and  paused.  Martha,  with  her  cloak 
over  her  arm  and  bonnet  in  her  hand,  in  act  to  leave  the 
room,  waited,  saying,  — 

«  Well,  father  ?  " 

So  frank  and  serene  was  her  bearing,  that  the  old  maa 
felt  both  relieved  and  softened. 

"  I  suppose  it  happened  so,"  he  said.  "  I  saw  his  mother 
with  Friend  Fairthom.  I  only  meant  thee  should  n't  be 
seen  in  company  with  young  Potter,  when  thee  could  help 
it ;  thee  knows  what  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  think,  father,"  she  slowly  answered,  "  there  is 
anything  against  Gilbert  Potter's  life  or  character,  except 
tliat  which  is  no  just  reproach  to  him." 

"  '  The  sins  of  the  parents  shall  be  visited  upon  the  chil^ 
dren,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation.'  That  is 
enough,  Martha." 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  meditating,  with  an  earnest- 
ness almost  equal  to  Gilbert's,  upon  this  form  of  the  world's 
injustice,  which  he  was  powerless  to  overcome.  Her  father 
shared  it,  and  the  fact  did  not  surprise  her  ;  but  her  inde- 
pendent spirit  had  already  ceased  to  be  guided,  in  all 
things,  by  his  views.  She  felt  that  the  young  man  de- 
served the  respect  and  admiration  which  he  had  inspired 
in  her  mind,  and  until  a  better  reason  could  be  discovered, 
shs  would  continue  so  to  regard  him.  The  decision  was 
reached  rapidly,  and  then  laid  aside  for  any  future  neces- 
sity ;  she  went  down-stairs  again  in  her  usual  quiet,  cheer- 
ful mood. 

During  her  absence  another  conversation  had  taken 
place. 


90  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender  (who  was  a  fast  friend  of  Mai^.ha, 
and  generally  spent  her  Sundays  at  the  Doctor's,)  was 
sitting  before  the  stove,  drying  her  feet.  She  was  silent 
until  Martha  left  the  room,  when  she  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  Doctor  !  Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged." 

"  Thee  may  thmk  as  thee  pleases,  Betsy,"  said  he,  rathei 
sharply :  "  it 's  thy  nature,  I  believe,  to  take  e\»erybody*a 
part." 

"  Put  yourself  in  his  place,"  she  continued,  —  "  remem- 
ber them  that 's  in  bonds  as  bound  with  'em,  —  I  disremem- 
ber  exackly  how  it  goes,  but  no  matter :  I  say  your  way 
a'n't  right,  and  I  'd  say  it  seven  times,  if  need  be  !  There 's 
Qo  steadier  nor  better-doin'  young  fellow  in  these  parts 
than  Gilbert  Potter.  Ferris,  down  in  Pennsbury,  or  Alf 
Barton,  here,  for  that  matter,  a'n't  to  be  put  within  a  mile 
of  him.  I  could  say  something  in  Mary  Potter's  behalf^ 
too,  but  I  won't :  for  there  's  Scribes  and  Pharisees  about." 

Dr.  Deane  did  not  notice  this  thrust :  it  was  not  his  habit 
to  get  angry  ''  Put  thyself  in  my  place,  Betsy,"  he  said. 
**  He  *s  a  wortny  yoimg  man,  in  some  respects,  I  grant  thee, 
but  would  thee  like  thy  daughter  to  be  seen  riding  home 
beside  him  from  Meeting  ?  It 's  one  thing  speaking  for 
thyself,  and  another  for  thy  daughter." 

"  Thy  daughter !  "  she  repeated.  "  Old  or  young  can^ 
make  any  difference,  as  I  see." 

There  was  something  else  on  her  tongue,  but  she  forci- 
bly withheld  the  words.  She  would  not  exhaust  her  am- 
munition until  there  was  both  a  chance  and  a  necessity  to 
do  some  execution.  The  next  moment  Martha  reentered 
the  room. 

After  dinner,  they  formed  a  quiet  group  in  the  front  sit- 
ting-room. Dr.  Deane,  having  no  more  visits  to  make  that 
day,  took  a  pipe  of  choice  tobacco,  —  the  present  of  a  Vir- 
ginia Friend,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  Yearly 
Meeting,  —  and  seated  himself  in  the  arm-chair  beside  the 
stove.    Martha,  at  the  west  window,  enjoyed  a  volume  0/ 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  81 

Hannah  More,  and  Miss  Botsy,  at  the  front  window, 
labored  over  the  Psalms.  The  sun  shone  with  dim,  muf- 
fled orb,  but  the  air  without  was  mild,  and  there  were 
already  brown  tufts,  which  would  soon  be  blossoms,  on  the 
lilac  twigs. 

Suddenly  Miss  Betsy  lifted  up  her  head  and  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  I  never !  "  As  she  did  so,  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door. 

"  Come  in  ! "  sa-d  Dr.  Deane,  and  in  came  Mr.  Alfred 
Barton,  resplendent  in  blue  coat,  buff  waistcoat,  cambric 
ruffles,  and  silver-gilt  buckles.  But,  alas !  the  bunch  of 
seals  —  topaz,  agate,  and  cornelian  —  no  longer  buoyed 
the  deep-anchored  watch.  The  money  due  his  father  had 
been  promptly  paid,  through  the  agency  of  a  three-months' 
promissory  note,  and  thus  the  most  momentous  result  of 
the  robbery  was  overcome.  This  security  for  the  future, 
however,  scarcely  consoled  him  for  the  painful  privation 
of  the  present.  Without  the  watch,  Alfred  Barton  felt 
that  much  of  his  dignity  and  importance  was  lacking. 

Dr.  Deane  greeted  his  visitor  with  respect,  Martha  with 
the  courtesy  due  to  a  guest,  and  Miss  Betsy  with  the  off- 
hand, independent  manner,  under  which  she  masked  her 
private  opinions  of  the  persons  whom  she  met 

"  Mark  is  n't  at  home,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  after  hav- 
ing taken  his  seat  in  the  centre  of  the  room :  "  I  thought 
I  'd  have  a  little  talk  with  him  about  the  wagon-house.  I 
suppose  he  told  you  that  I  got  Hallowell's  new  bam  for 
him?" 

**  Yes,  and  we  're  aU  greatly  obliged  to  thee,  as  weU  as 
Mark,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  The  two  jobs  make  a  fine  start 
for  a  young  mechanic,  and  I  hope  he  '11  do  as  well  as  he  's 
been  done  by:  there  's  luck  in  a  good  beginning.  By 
the  bye,  has  thee  heard  anything  more  of  Sandy  Flash's 
doings  ?  " 

Mr.  Barton  fairly  started  at  this  question.  His  own  mis- 
fortune had  been  carefully  kept  secret,  and  he  could  not 
• 


iM  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

suspect  that  the  Doctor  knew  it ;  but  he  nervously  dreaded 
the  soimd  of  the  terrible  name. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  He  has  turned  up  in  Bradford,  this  lime,  and  they  say 
has  robbed  Jesse  Frame,  the  Collector,  of  between  foui 
and  five  hundred  dollars.  The  Sheriff  and  a  posse  of  men 
from  the  Valley  hunted  him  for  several  days,  but  found  no 
signs.  Some  think  he  has  gone  up  into  the  Welch  Moun- 
tain ;  but  for  my  part,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were 
in  this  neighborhood." 

"  Good  heavens ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton,  starting  from 
his  chair. 

"  Now 's  your  chance,"  said  Miss  Betsy.  "  Git  the  young 
men  together  who  won't  feel  afraid  o'  bein'  twenty  ag'in 
one :  you  know  the  holes  and  comers  where  he  '11  be  likely 
to  hide,  and  what 's  to  hinder  you  from  ketchin'  him  ?  " 

"  But  he  must  have  many  secret  friends,"  said  Martha, 
"  if  what  I  have  heard  is  true,  —  that  he  has  often  helped 
a  poor  man  with  the  money  which  he  takes  only  from  the 
rich.  You  know  he  still  calls  himself  a  Tory,  and  many 
of  those  whose  estates  have  been  confiscated,  would  not 
scruple  to  harbor  him,  or  even  take  his  money." 

"Take  his  money.  That  's  a  fact,"  remarked  Miss 
Betsy,  "  and  now  I  dunno  whether  I  want  him  ketched. 
There  's  worse  men  goin'  round,  as  respectable  as  you 
please,  stealin'  all  their  born  days,  only  cunnin'ly  jukin' 
round  the  law  instead  o'  buttin'  square  through  it  Why, 
old  Liz  Williams,  o'  Birmingham,  herself  told  me  with  her 
own  mouth,  how  she  was  ridin'  home  from  Phildelphy  mar- 
ket last  winter,  with  six  dollars,  the  price  of  her  turkeys  — 
and  General  Washin'ton's  cook  took  one  of  'em,  but  that  'h 
neither  here  nor  there  —  in  her  pocket,  and  fearful  as 
death  when  she  come  to  Concord  woods,  and  lo  and  be- 
hold !  there  she  was  overtook  by  a  fresh-complected  man, 
and  she  begged  him  to  ride  with  her,  for  she  had  six  dol- 
lars in  her  pocket  and  Sandy  was  known  to  be  about    S« 


THE  STORY   OF   KJINNETT.  88 

he  rode  with  her  to  her  very  lane-end,  as  kind  and  civil  a 
person  as  she  ever^see,  and  then  and  there  he  said, '  Don't 
be  afeard,  Madam,  for  I,  which  have  seen  you  home,  is 
Sandy  Flash  himself,  and  here  's  somethin'  more  to  remem- 
ber me  by,'  —  no  sooner  said  than  done,  he  put  a  goold 
guinea  into  her  hand,  and  left  her  there  as  petrified  as 
Lot's  wife.  Now  /say,  and  it  may  be  violation  of  the  law, 
for  all  I  know,  but  never  mind,  that  Sandy  Flash  has  got 
one  comer  of  his  heart  in  the  right  place,  no  matter  where 
the  others  is.  There  's  honor  even  among  thieves,  they 
say." 

"  Seriously,  Alfred,"  said  Dr.  Deane,  cutting  Miss  Betsy 
short  before  she  had  half  expressed  her  sentiments,  "  it  is 
time  that  something  was  done.  If  Flash  is  nbt  caughl 
soon,  we  shall  be  overrun  with  thieves,  and  there  will  be 
no  security  anywhere  on  the  high  roads,  or  in  our  houses. 
]  wish  that  men  of  influence  in  the  neighborhood,  like  thy- 
self, would  come  together  and  plan,  at  least,  to  keep  Ken- 
nett  cleai  of  him.  Then  other  townships  may  do  the 
same,  and  so  the  thing  be  stopped.  If  I  were  younger, 
and  my  practice  were  not  so  laborious,  I  would  move  in 
the  matter,  but  thee  is  altogether  a  more  suitable  per- 
son." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  Barton  replied,  with  an  irrepressi- 
ble reluctance,  around  which  he  strove  to  throw  an  air  of 
modesty.  "  That  would  be  the  proper  way,  certainly,  but  I, 
—  I  don't  know,  —  that  is,  I  can't  flatter  myself  that  I  'm 
the  best  man  to  undertake  it" 

"  It  requires  some  courage,  you  know,"  Martha  remarked, 
and  her  glance  made  him  feel  very  uncomfortable,  "  and 
you  are  too  dashing  a  fox-hunter  not  to  have  that  Per- 
haps the  stranger  who  rode  with  you  to  Avondale  —  what 
was  his  name  ?  —  might  be  of  service.  If  I  were  in  yom 
place,  I  should  be  glad  of  a  chance  to  incur  danger  for  the 
good  of  the  neighborhood." 

Mr.  Alfred  Barton  was  on  nettles.    If  there  were  iron^ 


84  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

in  her  words  his  intellect  was  too  muddy  to  detect  it :  het 
assumption  of  his  courage  could  only  be  accepted  as  a  com- 
pliment, but  it  was  the  last  compliment  he  desired  to  have 
paid  to  himself,  just  at  that  time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh,  rushing  desperately 
into  the  opposite  extreme,  "  but  the  danger  and  the  couiage 
are  not  worth  talking  about.  Any  man  ought  to  be  able  to 
face  a  robber,  single-handed,  and  as  for  twenty  men,  why 
when  it 's  once  known,  Sandy  Flash  will  only  be  too  glad 
to  keep  away." 

"  Then,  do  thee  do  what  I  've  recommended.  It  may 
be,  as  thee  says,  that  the  being  prepared  is  all  that  is  nec- 
essary," remarked  Dr.  Deane. 

Thus  cfcught,  Mr.  Barton  could  do  no  less  than  acqui- 
esce, and  very  much  to  his  secret  dissatisfaction,  the  Doctor 
proceeded  to  name  the  young  men  of  the  neighborhood, 
promising  to  summon  such  as  lived  on  the  lines  of  his  pro- 
fessional journeys,  that  they  might  confer  with  the  leader 
of  the  undertaking.  Martha  seconded  the  plan  with  an 
evident  interest,  yet  it  did  not  escape  her  that  neither  her 
father  nor  Mr.  Barton  had  mentioned  the  name  of  Gilbert 
Potter. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  she  asked,  when  a  list  of  some  eighteen 
persons  had  been  suggested.  Involuntarily,  she  looked  at 
Miss  Betsy  Lavender. 

"  No,  indeed !  "  cried  the  latter.  "  There  's  Jabez  Tra- 
villa,  up  on  the  ridge,  and  Gilbert  Potter,  down  at  the 
mUl." 

**H'm,  yes;  what  does  thee  say,  Alfred?"  asked  the 
Doctor. 

"  They  're  both  good  riders,  and  I  think  they  have  cour- 
age enough,  but  we  can  never  tell  what  a  man  is  until  he 's 
been  tried.  They  would  increase  the  number,  and  that,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  a  consideration." 

"  Perhaps  thee  had  better  exercise  thy  own  judgment 
there."  the  Doctor  o'bserved,  and  the  subject,  having  beeir 


rnE  STORT   OF  KENNETT.  85 

as  fiilly  discussed  as  was  possible  without  consultation  with 
other  persons,  it  was  dropped,  greatly  to  Barton's  relief! 

But  in  endeavoring  to  converse  ^vith  Martha  he  only 
exchanged  one  difficulty  for  another.  His  vanity,  power- 
ful as  it  was,  gave  way  before  that  instinct  which  is  the 
curse  and  torment  of  vulgar  natures,  —  which  leaps  into 
life  at  every  contact  of  refinement,  showing  them  the  gulf 
between,  which  they  know  not  how  to  cross.  The  impu- 
dence, the  aggressive  rudeness  which  such  natures  often 
exhibit,  is  either  a  mask  to  conceal  their  deficiency,  or  an 
angry  protest  against  it.  Where  there  is  a  drop  of  gentle- 
ness in  the  blood,  it  appreciates  and  imitates  the  higher 
nature. 

This  was  the  feeling  which  made  Alfred  Barton  uncom- 
fortable in  the  presence  of  Martha  Deane,  —  which  told 
him,  in  advance,  thaf  natures  so  widely  sundered,  never 
could  come  into  near  relations  with  each  other,  and  thus 
quite  neutralized  the  attraction  of  her  beauty  and  her  ten 
thousand  dollars.  His  game,  however,  was  to  pay  court 
to  her,  and  in  so  pointed  a  way  that  it  should  be  remarked 
and  talked  about  in  the  neighborhood.  Let  it  once  come 
through  others  to  the  old  man's  ears,  he  would  have  proved 
his  obedience  and  could  not  be  reproached  if  the  result 
were  fruitless. 

"  What  are  you  reading.  Miss  ISIartha  ?  "  he  asked,  aftej 
a  long  and  somewhat  awkward  pause. 

She  handed  him  the  book  in  reply. 

"  Ah  !  Hannah  More,  —  a  friend  of  yours  ?  Is  she  one 
of  the  West-Whiteland  Moores  ?  " 

Martha  could  not  suppress  a  light,  amused  laugh,  as  she 
answered  :  "  Oh,  no,  she  is  an  English  woman." 

"Then  it's  a  Tory  book,"  said  he,  handing  it  back;  "I 
would  n't  read  it,  if  I  was  you." 

"  I:  is  a  story,  and  I  should  think  you  might" 

He  heard  other  words  than  those  she  spoke.  "  Ai 
foiy  as  —  what?"  he  asked  himself.    "As  I  am."  id 


M  THK  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

course  :  that  's  what  she  means.  "  Old-man  Barton  "  had 
been  one  of  the  disloyal  purveyors  for  the  British  army 
during  its  occupancy  of  Philadelphia  in  the  winter  of 
1777-8,  and  though  the  main  facts  of  the  traffic  where- 
from  he  had  drawn  immense  profits,  never  could  be  proved 
against  him,  the  general  belief  hung  over  the  family,  and 
made  a  very  disagreeable  cloud.  Whenever  Alfred  Bar- 
ton quarrelled  with  any  one,  the  taunt  was  sure  to  be  flung 
into  his  teeth.  That  it  came  now,  as  he  imagined,  was  as 
great  a  shock  as  if  Martha  had  slapped  him  in  the  face 
with  her  own  delicate  hand,  and  his  visage  reddened 
from  the  blow. 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender,  bending  laboriously  over  the 
Psalms,  nevertheless  kept  her  dull  gray  eyes  in  move- 
ment She  saw  the  misconception,  and  fearing  that  Martha 
did  not,  made  haste  to  remark :  — 

"  "Well,  Mr.  Alfred,  and  do  you  think  it 's  a  harm  to  read 
a  story  ?  Why,  Miss  Ann  herself  lent  me  '  Alonzo  and 
Melissa,'  and  '  Midnight  Horrors,'  and  I  '11  be  bound  you  've 
read  'em  yourself  on  the  sly.  'T  a'n't  much  other  readin' 
men  does,  save  and  except  the  weekly  paper,  and  law 
enough  to  git  a  tight  hold  on  their  debtors.  Come,  noW; 
let 's  know  what  you  do  read  ?  " 

"Not  nmch  of  anything,  that's  a  fact,"  he  answered, 
recovering  himself,  with  a  shudder  at  the  fearful  mistake 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  making,  "  but  I  've  nothing 
against  women  reading  stories.  I  was  rather  thinking  of 
myself  when  I  spoke  to  you.  Miss  Martha." 

"  So  I  supposed,"  she  quietly  answered.  It  was  provok- 
ing. Everything  she  said  made  him  think  there  was  an- 
other meaning  behind  the  words ;  her  composed  manner, 
though  he  knew  it  to  be  habitual,  more  and  more  discon- 
certed him.  Never  did  an  intentional  wooer  find  his 
wooing  so  painful  and  laborious.  After  this  attempt  he 
addressed  himself  to  Doctor  Deane,  for  even  the  question 
of  circumventing  Sandy  Flash  now  presented  itself  to  bu 
mind  as  a  relief. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  9 

There  be  sat,  and  the  conversation  progressed  in  jerks 
and  spirts,  between  pauses  of  embarrassing  silence.  The 
sun  hung  on  the  western  hill  in  a  web  of  clouds ;  Martha 
and  Miss  Betsy  rose  and  prepared  the  tea-table,  and  the 
gfuest,  invited  perforce,  perforce  accepted.  Soon  after  the 
meal  was  over,  however,  he  murmured  something  about 
cattle,  took  his  hat  and  left. 

Two  or  three  horses  were  hitched  before  the  Unicom, 
and  he  saw  some  figures  through  the  bar-room  window. 
A  bright  thought  struck  him  ;  he  crossed  the  road  and 
entered. 

"Hallo,  Alf!  Where  from  now?  Why,  you're  as  fine 
as  a  fiddler ! "  cried  Mr.  Joel  Ferris,  who  was  fast  be- 
coming familiar,  on  the  strength  of  his  inheritance. 

"  Over  the  way,"  answered  the  landlord,  with  a  wink  and 
a  jerk  of  his  thumb. 

Mr.  Ferris  whistled,  and  one  of  the  others  suggested: 
**  He  must  stand  a  treat,  on  that" 

"  But,  I  say  ! "  said  the  former,  "  how  is  it  you  're  coming 
away  so  soon  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"  I  went  very  early  in  the  afternoon,"  Barton  answered, 
with  a  mysterious,  meaning  smile,  as  much  as  to  say :  "It's 
all  right ;  I  know  what  I  'm  about"  Then  he  added  aloud, 
—  "  Step  up,  fellows ;  what  '11  you  have  ?  " 

Many  were  the  jests  and  questions  to  which  he  was 
forced  to  submit,  but  he  knew  the  value  of  silence  in 
creating  an  impression,  and  allowed  them  to  enjoy  their 
own  inferences. 

It  is  much  easier  to  start  a  report,  than  to  counteract  it, 
when  once  started ;  but  the  first,  only,  was  his  business. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  returned  home,  and 
the  household  were  in  bed.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  enter 
by  the  back  way,  in  his  stockings,  but  called  Giles  down 
from  the  garret  to  unlock  the  front-door,  and  made  aa 
much  noise  as  he  pleased  on  his  way  to  bed. 

The  old  man  heard  it,  and  chuckled  under  his  coverlet 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNSTT. 


CHAPTER  rX. 

THE   RAISING. 

Steadily  and  serenely  the  Spring  advanced.  Old  peo 
pie  shook  their  heads  and  said :  "  It  will  be  April,  thiji 
year,  that  comes  in  like  a  lamb  and  goes  out  like  a  lion,"  — 
but  it  was  not  so.  Soft,  warm  showers  and  frostless  nights 
repaid  the  trustfulness  of  the  early-expanding  buds,  and 
May  came  clothed  completely  in  pale  green,  with  a  wreath 
of  lilac  and  hawthorn  bloom  on  her  brow.  For  twenty 
years  no  such  perfect  spring  had  been  known ;  and  for 
twenty  years  afterwards  the  farmers  looked  back  to  it  as  a 
standard  of  excellence,  whereby  to  measure  the  forward- 
ness of  their  crops. 

By  the  twentieth  of  April  the  young  white-oak  leaves 
were  the  size  of  a  squirrel's  ear,  —  the  old  Indian  sign  of 
the  proper  time  for  corn-planting,  which  was  still  accepted 
by  the  new  race,  and  the  first  of  May  saw  many  fields 
already  specked  with  the  green  points  of  the  springing 
blades.  A  warm,  silvery  vapor  hung  over  the  land,  mel- 
lowing the  brief  vistas  of  the  interlacing  valleys,  touching 
with  a  sweeter  pastoral  beauty  the  irregular  alternation  of- 
field  and  forest,  and  lifting  the  wooded  slopes,  far  and  near, 
to  a  statelier  and  more  imposing  height.  The  park-like 
region  of  Kennett,  settled  originally  by  emigrants  from 
Bucks  and  Warwickshire,  reproduced  to  their  eyes  —  as  it 
does  to  this  day  —  the  characteristics  of  their  original 
home,  and  they  transplanted  the  local  names  to  which  they 
were  accustomed,  and  preserved,  even  long  after  the  War 
of  Independence,  the  habits  of  their  rural  ancestry.    The 


THE  STORY    OF    KENNETT.  8ft 

massive  stone  farm-houses,  the  walled  gardens,  the  boimd- 
ful  orchards,  and,  more  than  all,  the  well-trimmed  hedges 
of  hawthorn  and  blackthorn  dividing  their  fields,  or  bor- 
dering their  roads  with  the  living  wall,  over  which  the  cle- 
matis and  wild-ivy  love  to  clamber,  made  the  region  beauti- 
ful to  their  eyes.  Although  the  large  original  grants, 
mostly  given  by  the  hand  of  William  Penn,  had  been  di- 
vided and  subdivided  by  three  or  four  prolific  generations, 
there  was  still  enough  and  to  spare,  —  and  even  the  golden 
promise  held  out  by  "  the  Backwoods,"  as  thp  new  States 
of  Ohio  and  Kentucky  were  then  called,  tempted  very  few 
to  leave  their  homes. 

The  people,  therefore,  loved  the  soil  and  clung  to  it  with 
a  fidelity  very  rare  in  any  part  of  our  restless  nation.  And, 
truly,  no  one  who  had  lived  through  the  mild  splendor  of 
that  spring,  seeing,  day  by  day,  the  visible  deepening  of 
the  soft  woodland  tints,  hearing  the  cheerful  sounds  of  la- 
bor, far  and  wide,  in  the  vapory  air,  and  feeling  at  once  the 
repose  and  the  beauty  of  such  a  quiet,  pastoral  life,  could 
have  turned  his  back  upon  it,  to  battle  with  the  inhospi- 
table wilderness  of  the  West  Gilbert  Potter  had  had  ideas 
of  a  new  home,  to  be  created  by  himself,  and  a  life  to 
which  none  should  deny  honor  and  respect :  but  now  he 
gave  them  up  forever.  There  was  a  battle  to  be  fought  — 
better  here  than  elsewhere  —  here,  where  every  scene  was 
dear  and  familiar,  and  every  object  that  met  his  eye  gave  a 
mute,  gentle  sense  of  consolation. 

Restless,  yet  cheery  labor  was  now  the  order  of  life  on 
the  farm.  From  dawn  till  dusk,  Gilbert  and  Sam  were 
stirring  in  field,  meadow,  and  garden,  keeping  pace  with 
the  season  and  forecasting  what  was  yet  to  come.  Sam, 
although  only  fifteen,  had  a  manly  pride  in  being  equal  to 
the  duty  imposed  upon  him  by  his  master's  absence,  and 
when  the  time  came  to  harness  the  wagon-team  once  more, 
the  mother  and  son  walked  over  the  fields  together  and  re- 
joiced in  the  order  and  promise  of  the  farm.     The  influ* 


90  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

cnces  of  the  season  had  unconsciously  touched  them  Itoth  j 
everything  conspired  to  favor  the  fulfihnent  of  their  com- 
mon plan,  and,  as  one  went  forward  to  the  repetition  of  his 
tedious  journeys  back  and  forth  between  Columbia  and 
Newport,  and  the  other  to  her  lonely  labor  in  the  deserted 
farm-house,  the  arches  of  bells  over  the  collars  of  the  lead- 
ers chimed  at  once  to  the  ears  of  both,  an  antliem  of 
thanksgiving  and  a  melody  of  hope. 

So  May  and  the  beginning  of  June  passed  away,  and  no 
Important  event  came  to  any  character  of  this  history. 
When  Gilbert  had  delivered  the  last  barrels  at  Newport, 
and  slowly  cheered  homewards  his  weary  team,  he  was 
nearly  two  hundred  dollars  richer  than  when  he  started, 
and  —  if  we  must  confess  a  universal  if  somewhat  humil- 
iating truth  —  so  much  the  more  a  man  in  courage  and  de- 
termination. 

The  country  was  now  covered  with  the  first  fresh  mag- 
nificence of  summer.  The  snowy  pyramids  of  dog-wood 
bloom  had  faded,  but  the  tulip  trees  were  tall  cones  of 
rustling  green,  lighted  with  millions  of  orange-colored 
stars,  and  all  the  underwood  beneath  the  hemlock-forests 
by  the  courses  of  streams,  was  rosy  with  laurels  and  aza- 
leas. The  vernal-grass  in  the  meadows  was  sweeter  than 
any  garden-rose,  and  its  breath  met  that  of  the  wild-grape 
in  the  thickets  and  struggled  for  preeminence  of  sweet- 
ness. A  lush,  tropical  splendor  of  vegetation,  such  as 
England  never  knew,  heaped  the  woods  and  hung  the 
road-side  with  sprays  which  grew  and  bloomed  and  wan- 
toned, as  if  growth  were  a  conscious  joy,  rather  than  blind 
obedience  to  a  law. 

When  Gilbert  reached  home,  released  from  his  labors 
abroad  until  October,  he  found  his  fields  awaiting  their 
owner's  hand.  His  wheat  hung  already  heavy-headed, 
though  green,  and  the  grass  stood  so  thick  and  strong  that 
it  suggested  the  ripping  music  of  the  scythe-blade  which 
Bhoiild  lay  it  low.    Sam  had  taken  good  care  of  the  corn 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  tl 

field,  garden,  and  the  cattle,  and  Gilbert's  feTV  ?Fords  of 
quiet  commendation  were  a  rich  reward  for  all  his  anxiety 
His  ambition  was,  to  be  counted  "  a  full  hand,"  —  this  was 
the  toga  virilis,  which,  once  entitled  to  wear,  would  make 
him  feel  that  he  was  any  man's  equal. 

Without  a  day's  rest,  the  labor  commenced  again,  otaI 
the  passion  of  Gilbert's  heart,  though  it  had  only  strength- 
ened during  his  absence,  must  be  thrust  aside  until  the  for- 
tune of  his  harvest  was  secured. 

In  the  midst  of  the  haying,  however,  came  a  message 
which  he  could  not  disregard,  —  a  hasty  summons  from 
Mark  Deane,  who,  seeing  Gilbert  in  the  upper  hill-field, 
called  from  the  road,  bidding  him  to  the  raising  of  Hallo- 
well's  new  bam,  which  was  to  tike  place  on  the  following 
Saturday.  "  Be  sure  and  come ! "  were  Mark's  closing 
words  —  "  there  's  to  be  both  dinner  and  supper,  and  the 
girls  are  to  be  on  hand  ! " 

It  was  the  custom  to  prepare  the  complete  frame  of  a 
bam  —  sills,  plates,  girders,  posts,  and  stays  —  with  all 
their  mortices  and  pins,  ready  for  erection,  and  then  to 
summon  all  the  able-bodied  men  of  the  neighborhood  to 
assist  in  getting  the  timbers  into  place.  This  service,  of 
course,  was  given  gratuitously,  and  the  farmer  who  received 
it  could  do  no  less  than  entertain,  after  the  bountiful  man- 
ner of  the  country,  his  helping  neighbors,  who  therefore^ 
although  the  occasion  implied  a  certain  amount  of  haiti 
work,  were  accustomed  to  regard  it  as  a  sort  of  holiday,  or 
merry-making.  Their  opportunities  for  recreation,  indeed, 
were  so  scanty,  that  a  barn-raising,  or  a  husking-partj  by 
moonlight,  was  a  thing  to  be  welcomed. 

Hallowell's  farm  was  just  half-way  between  Gilbert's  and 
Kennett  Square,  and  the  site  of  the  bam  had  been  well- 
chosen  ou  a  ridge,  across  the  road,  which  ran  between  it 
and  the  farm-house.  The  Hallowells  were  what  was  called 
"good  providers,"  and  as  they  belonged  to  the  class  of  out- 
side Quakers,  which  we  have  already  described,  the  cbancea 


M  THE  STORY  OF   KENNEFT. 

were  that  both  music  and  dance  would  reward  the  labor  of 
the  day. 

Gilbert,  of  course,  could  not  refuse  the  invitation  of  so 
near  a  neighbor,  and  there  was  a  hope  in  his  heart  which 
made  it  welcome.  When  the  day  came  he  was  early  on 
hand,  heartily  greeted  by  Mark,  who  exclaimed,  —  "Give 
me  a  dozen  more  such  shouldere  and  arms  as  yours,  and 
I  '11  make  the  timbers  spin  !  " 

It  was  a  bright,  breezy  day,  making  the  wheat  roll  and 
the  leaves  twinkle.  Ranges  of  cumuli  moved,  one  after 
the  other,  like  heaps  of  silvery  wool,  across  the  keen,  dark 
blue  of  the  sky.  "  A  wonderful  hay-day,"  the  old  farmers 
remarked,  with  a  half-stifled  sense  of  regret;  but  the 
younger  men  had  already  stripped  themselves  to  their 
shirts  and  knee-breeches,  and  set  to  work  with  a  hearty 
good-will.  Mark,  as  friend,  half-host  and  commander, 
bore  his  triple  responsibility  with  a  mixture  of  dash  and 
decision,  which  became  his  large  frame  and  ruddy,  laugh- 
ing face.  It  was  —  really,  and  not  in  an  oratorical  sense, 
—  the  proudest  day  of  his  life. 

There  could  be  no  finer  sight  than  that  of  these  lithe, 
vigorous  specimens  of  a  free,  uncorrupted  manhood,  taking 
like  sport  the  rude  labor  which  was  at  once  their  destiny 
and  their  guard  of  safety  against  the  assaults  of  the  senses. 
As  they  bent  to  their  work,  prying,  rolling,  and  lifting 
the  huge  sills  to  their  places  on  the  foundation-wall,  they 
showed  in  every  movement  the  firm  yet  elastic  action  of 
muscles  equal  to  their  task.  Though  Hallowell's  barn  did 
not  rise,  like  the  walls  of  Ilium,  to  music,  a  fine  human 
harmony  aided  in  its  construction. 

There  was  a  plentiful  supply  of  whiskey  on  hand,  but 
Mark  Deane  assumed  the  charge  of  it,  resolved  that  no 
accident  or  other  disturbance  should  mar  the  success  of 
tins,  his  first  raising.  Everything  went  well,  and  by  the 
time  they  were  summoned  to  dinner,  the  sills  and  some  of 
the  uprights  were  in  place,  properly  squiired  and  tied. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  H 

It  would  require  a  Homeric  catalogue  to  describe  the 
dinner.  To  say  that  the  table  "  groaned,"  is  to  give  no 
idea  of  its  condition.  Mrs.  Hallowell  and  six  neighbors' 
wives  moved  from  kitchen  to  dining-room,  replenishing 
the  dishes  as  fast  as  their  contents  diminished,  and  plying 
the  double  row  of  coatless  guests  with  a  most  stem  and 
exacting  hospitality.  The  former  would  have  been  seri- 
ously mortified  had  not  each  man  endeavored  to  eat  twice 
his  usual  requirement. 

After  the  slight  rest  which  nature  enforced  —  though 
far  less  than  nature  demanded,  after  such  a  meal  —  the 
work  went  on  again  with  greater  alacrity,  since  every  tim- 
ber showed.  Rib  by  rib  the  great  frame  grew,  and  those 
perched  aloft,  pinning  the  posts  and  stays,  rejoiced  in  the 
broad,  bright  landscape  opened  to  their  view.  They 
watched  the  roads,  in  the  intervals  of  their  toil,  and  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  delayed  guests,  all  alert  for  the 
right  of  the  first  riding-habit. 

Suddenly  two  ladies  made  their  appearance,  over  the 
rise  of  the  hill,  one  cantering  lightly  and  securely,  the  other 
bouncing  in  her  seat,  from  the  rough  trot  of  her  horse. 

"  Look  out !  there  they  come  ! "  cried  a  watcher. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  was  asked  from  below. 

"  Where  's  Barton  ?  He  ought  to  be  on  hand,  —  it 's 
Blartha  Deane,  —  and  Sally  wijth  her ;  they  always  ride 
together." 

Gilbert  had  one  end  of  a  handspike,  helping  lift  a  heavy 
piece  of  timber,  and  his  face  was  dark  with  the  strain  ;  it 
was  well  that  he  dared  not  let  go  until  the  lively  gossip 
which  followed  Barton's  absence,  —  the  latter  having  im- 
mediately gone  forward  to  take  charge  oi  ine  horses, — 
had  subsided.  Leaning  on  the  handspike,  he  panted, — 
not  entirely  from  fatigue.  A  terrible  possibility  of  loss 
flashed  suddenly  across  his  mind,  revealing  to  him,  in  a 
new  light,  the  desperate  force  and  desire  of  his  love. 

There  was  no  time  for  meditation ;  his  help  was  again 


H  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

wanted,  and  he  expended  therein  the  first  hot  tumult  of 
his  heart.  By  ones  and  twos  the  girls  now  gathered  rap- 
idly, and  erelong  they  came  out  in  a  body  to  have  a  look 
at  the  raising.  Their  coming  in  no  wise  intryrupted  the 
labor ;  it  was  rather  an  additional  stimulus,  and  the  young 
men  were  right.  Although  they  were  not  aware  of  the 
fact,  they  were  never  so  handsome  in  their  uneasy  Sunday 
costume  and  awkward  social  ways,  as  thus  in  their  free, 
joyous,  and  graceful  element  of  labor.  Greetings  were 
interchanged,  laughter  and  cheerful  nothings  animated 
the  company,  and  when  Martha  Deane  said,  — 

"  We  may  be  in  the  way,  now  —  shall  we  go  in  ?  ** 

Mark  responded,  — 

"  No,  Martha !  No,  girls  !  I  '11  get  twice  as  much  work 
out  o*  my  twenty-five  'jours,'  if  you  '11  only  stand  where 
you  are  and  look  at  'em." 

*'  Indeed  !  "  Sally  Fairthom  exclaimed.  "  But  we  have 
work  to  do  as  well  as  you.  If  you  men  can't  get  along 
Tithout  admiring  spectators,  we  girls  can." 

The  answer  which  Mark  would  have  made  to  this  perl 
speech  was  cut  short  by  a  loud  cry  of  pain  or  terror  from 
the  old  half-dismantled  barn  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
All  eyes  were  at  once  turned  in  that  direction,  and  beheld 
Joe  Fairthorn  rushing  at  full  speed  down  the  bank,  making 
for  the  stables  below.  Mark,  Gilbert  Potter,  and  Sally, 
being  nearest,  hastened  to  the  spot. 

"  You  're  in  time ! "  cried  Joe,  clapping  his  hands  in 
great  glee.  "  I  was  awfully  afeard  he  'd  let  go  before  I 
could  git  down  to  see  him  fall.  Look  quick  —  he  can't 
hold  on  nmch  longer !  " 

Looking  into  the  dusky  depths,  they  saw  Jake,  hanging 
by  his  hands  to  the  edges  of  a  hole  \n  the  floor  above,  yell- 
ing and  kicking  for  dear  life. 

"  You  wicked,  wicked  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Sally,  turning  to 
Joe,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  jerking  and  twisting  with  fearful 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  98 

delight,  **  there  was  such  a  nice  hole  in  the  floor !  I  cov- 
ered it  all  over  with  straw,  but  I  had  to  wait  ever  so  long 
before  Jake  stepped  onto  it,  and  then  he  ketched  hold 
goin'  down,  and  nigh  spoilt  the  fun." 

Gilbert  made  for  the  barn-floor,  to  succor  the  helpless 
eistim  ;  but  just  as  his  step  was  heard  on  the  boards,  Jake's 
strength  gave  way.  His  fingers  slipped,  and  with  a  last 
howl  down  he  dropped,  eight  or  ten  feet,  upon  a  bed  of 
dry  manure.  Then  his  terror  was  instantly  changed  to 
wrath  :  he  bounced  upon  his  feet,  seized  a  piece  of  rotten 
board,  and  made  after  Joe,  who,  anticipating  the  result, 
was  already  showing  his  heels  down  the  road. 

Meanwhile  the  other  young  ladies  had  followed,  and 
so,  after  discussing  the  incident  with  a  mixture  of  amuse- 
ment and  horror,  they  betook  themselves  to  the  house,  tc 
assist  in  the  preparations  for  supper.  Martha  Deane's 
eyes  took  in  the  situation,  and  immediately  perceived  that 
it  was  capable  of  a  picturesque  improvement.  In  front  of 
the  house  stood  a  superb  sycamore,  beyond  which  a  trellis 
of  grape-vines  divided  the  yard  from  the  kitchen-garden. 
Here,  on  the  cool  green  turf,  under  shade,  in  the  bright 
summer  air,  she  proposed  that  the  tables  should  be  set, 
and  found  little  difficulty  in  carrying  her  point  It  was 
quite  convenient  to  the  outer  kitchen  door,  and  her  ready 
invention  found  means  of  overcommg  all  other  technical 
objections.  Erelong  the  tables  were  transported  to  the 
spot,  the  cloth  laid,  and  the  aspect  of  the  coming  entertain- 
ment grew  so  pleasant  to  the  eye,  that  there  was  a  special 
satisfaction  in  the  labor. 

An  hour  before  sundown  the  frame  was  completed ;  the 
skeleton  of  the  great  bam  rose  sharp  against  the  sky,  its 
fresh  white-oak  timber  gilded  by  tlie  sunshine.  Mark 
drove  in  the  last  pin,  gave  a  joyous  shout,  which  was  an- 
swered by  an  irregular  cheer  from  below,  and  lightly  clam- 
bered down  by  one  of  the  stays.  Then  the  black  jugs 
?rere  produced,  and  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  the 


M  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

ruddy,  glowing  young  fellows  drew  their  shirt  -  sleeve* 
across  their  faces,  and  breathed  the  free,  full  breath  of 
rest 

Gilbert  Potter,  sitting  beside  Mark,  —  the  two  were 
mutually  drawn  towards  each  other,  without  knowing  or 
considering  why,  —  had  gradually  worked  himself  into  a 
resolution  to  be  cool,  and  to  watch  the  movements  of  his 
presumed  rival.  More  than  once,  during  the  afternoon, 
he  had  detected  Barton's  eyes,  fixed  upon  him  with  a  more 
than  accidental  interest ;  looking  up  now,  he  met  them 
again,  but  they  were  quickly  withdrawn,  with  a  shy,  uneasy 
expression,  which  he  could  not  comprehend.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  Barton  conjectured  the  carefully  hidden  secret 
of  his  heart?  Or  had  the  country  gossip  been  free  with 
his  name,  in  some  way,  during  his  absence  ?  Whatever  it 
was,  the  dearer  interests  at  stake  prevented  him  from  dis- 
missing it  from  his  mind.  He  was  preternaturally  alert 
suspicious,  and  sensitive. 

He  was  therefore  a  little  startled,  when,  as  they  were  all 
rising  in  obedience  to  Farmer  Hallowell's  summons  to 
supper.  Barton  suddenly  took  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Gilbert,"  said  he,  "  we  want  your  name  in  a  list  of 
young  men  we  are  getting  together,  for  the  protection  of 
our  neighborhood.  There  are  suspicions,  you  know,  that 
Sandy  Flash  has  some  friends  hereabouts,  though  nobody 
seems  to  know  exactly  who  they  are  ;  and  our  only  safety 
is  in  clubbing  together,  to  smoke  him  out  and  hunt  him 
down,  if  he  ever  comes  near  us.  Now,  you  're  a  good 
fcunter  "  — 

•'  Put  me  down,  of  course ! "  Gilbert  interrupted,  im- 
mensely relieved  to  find  how  wide  his  suspicions  had 
fallen  from  the  mark.  "  That  would  be  a  more  stirring 
chase  than  our  last ;  it  is  a  shame  and  a  disgrace  that  he 
is  still  at  large." 

"  How  many  have  we  now  ? "  asked  Mark,  who  wai 
walking  on  th^  other  side  of  Barton. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  $1 

*  Twenty-one,  with  GUbert,"  the  latter  replied. 

"  Well,  as  Sandy  is  said  to  count  equal  to  twenty,  we  can 
meet  him  evenly,  and  have  one  to  spare,"  laughed  Marit. 

"  Has  any  one  here  ever  seen  the  fellow  ?  "  asked  Gilbert 
*  We  ought  to  know  his  marks." 

**  He  's  short,  thick-set,  with  a  red  face,  jet-black  hair, 
mad  heavy  whiskers,"  said  Barton. 

"  Jet-black  hair  !  "  Mark  exclaimed  ;  "  why,  it 's  red  as 
brick-dust !     And  I  never  heard  that  he  wore  whiskers." 

"Pshaw!  what  was  I  thinking  of?  Red,  of  course — 1 
meant  red,  all  the  time,"  Barton  hastily  assented,  inwardlj 
cursing  himself  for  a  fool.  It  was  evident  that  the  less  he 
conversed  about  Sandy  Flash,  the  better. 

Loud  exclamations  of  surprise  and  admiration  inter- 
I  dpted  them.  In  the  shade  of  the  sycamore,  on  the  bright 
green  floor  of  the  silken  turf,  stood  the  long  supper-table, 
snowily  draped,  and  heaped  with  the  richest  products  of 
cellar,  kitchen,  and  dairy.  Twelve  chickens,  stewed  in 
cream,  filled  huge  dishes  at  the  head  and  foot,  while  hams 
and  rounds  of  cold  roast-beef  accentuated  the  space  be- 
tween. The  interstices  were  filled  with  pickles,  pies,  jars 
of  marmalade,  bowls  of  honey,  and  plates  of  cheese.  Four 
coffee-pots  steamed  in  readiness  on  a  separate  table,  and 
the  young  ladies,  doubly  charming  in  their  fresh  white 
aprons,  stood  waiting  to  serve  the  tired  laborers.  Clumps 
of  crown-roses,  in  blossom,  peered  over  the  garden-paling, 
the  woodbine  filled  the  air  with  its  nutmeg  odors,  and  a 
broad  sheet  of  sunshine  stnick  the  upper  boughs  of  the 
arching  sycamore,  and  turned  them  into  a  gilded  canopy 
for  the  banquet  It  might  have  been  truly  said  of  Martha 
Deane,  that  she  touched  nothing  which  she  did  not  adorn. 

la  the  midst  of  her  duties  as  directress  of  the  festival, 
she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  three  men,  as  they  approached 
together,  somewhat  in  the  rear  of  the  others.  The  em- 
barrassed flush  had  not  quite  faded  from  Barton's  face, 
and  Gilbert's  was  touched  by  a  lingering  sign  of  his  new 


'#8  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

trouble.  Mark,  light-hearted  and  laughing,  precluded  the 
least  idea  of  mystery,  but  Gilbert's  eye  met  hers  with  what 
she  felt  to  be  a  painfully  earnest,  questioning  expression. 
The  next  moment  they  were  seated  at  the  table,  and  her 
services  were  required  on  behalf  of  all. 

Unfortunately  for  the  social  enjoyments  of  Kennett, 
eating  had  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  part  of  labor ;  silence 
and  rapidity  were  its  principal  features.  Board  and  plat- 
ter were  cleared  in  a  marvellously  short  time,  the  plates 
changed,  the  dishes  replenished,  and  then  the  wives  and 
maidens  took  the  places  of  the  young  men,  who  lounged 
off  to  the  road-side,  some  to  smoke  their  pipes,  and  all  to 
gossip. 

Before  dusk,  Giles  made  his  appearance,  with  an  old 
green  bag  under  his  arm.  Barton,  of  course,  had  the 
credit  of  this  arrangement,  and  it  made  him,  for  the  time, 
very  popular.  After  a  pull  at  the  bottle,  Giles  began  to 
screw  his  fiddle,  drawing  now  and  then  unearthly  shrieks 
from  its  strings.  The  more  eager  of  the  young  men  there- 
upon stole  to  the  house,  assisted  in  carrying  in  the  tables 
and  benches,  and  in  other  ways  busied  themselves  to  bring 
about  the  moment  when  the  aprons  of  the  maidens  could 
be  laid  aside,  and  their  lively  feet  given  to  the  dance.  The 
moon  already  hung  over  the  eastern  wood,  and  a  light 
breeze  blew  the  dew-mist  from  the  hill. 

Finally,  they  were  all  gathered  on  the  open  bit  of  lawn 
between  the  house  and  the  road.  There  was  much  hesi- 
tation at  first,  ardent  coaxing  and  bashful  withdrawal,  until 
Martha  broke  the  ice  by  boldly  choosing  Mark  as  hei 
partner,  apportioning  Sally  to  Gilbert,  and  taking  her 
place  for  a  Scotch  reel.  She  danced  well  and  lightly, 
though  in  a  more  subdued  manner  than  was  then  custom- 
ary. In  this  respect,  Gilbert  resembled  her;  his  steps, 
gravely  measured,  though  sufficiently  elastic,  differed  widely 
from  Mark's  springs,  pigeon-wings,  and  curvets.  Gilea 
played  with  a  will,  swaying  head  and  fiddle  up  and  dow« 


THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT.  95 

and  beating  time  with  his  foot ;  and  the  reel  went  off  so 
sucajssfully  that  there  was  no  hesitation  in  getting  up  the 
next  dance. 

Mark  was  alert,  and  secured  Sally  this  time.  Perhaps 
Gilbert  would  have  made  the  like  exchange,  but  Mr. 
Alfred  Barton  stepped  before  him,  and  bore  off  Martha. 
There  was  no  appearance  of  design  about  the  matter,  but 
Gilbert  felt  a  hot  tingle  in  his  blood,  and  drew  back  a  little 
to  watch  the  pair.  Martha  moved  through  the  dance  as 
if  but  half  conscious  of  her  partner's  presence,  and  he 
seemed  more  intent  on  making  the  proper  steps  and  flour- 
ishes than  on  improving  the  few  brief  chances  for  a  confi- 
dential word.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  with  the  unnecessary 
laugh,  which  is  meant  to  show  ease  of  manner,  and  betrays 
the  want  of  it.  Gilbert  was  puzzled ;  either  the  two  were 
unconscious  of  the  gossip  which  linked  their  names  so  in- 
timately, (which  seemed  scarcely  possible,)  or  they  were 
studedly  concealing  an  actual  tender  relation.  AmDng 
those  simple-hearted  people,  the  shyness  of  love  rivalled 
the  secrecy  of  crime,  and  the  ways  by  which  the  lover 
sought  to  assure  himself  of  his  fortune  were  made  very 
difficult  by  the  shrinking  caution  with  which  he  concealed 
the  evidence  of  his  passion.  Gilbert  knew  how  well  the 
secret  of  his  own  heart  was  guarded,  and  the  reflection, 
that  others  might  be  equally  inscrutable,  smote  him  with 
sudden  pain. 

The  figures  moved  before  him  in  the  splendid  moonlight, 
and  with  every  motion  of  Martha's  slender  form  the  glow 
of  his  passion  and  the  torment  of  his  uncertainty  increased. 
Then  the  dance  dissolved,  and  while  he  still  stood  with 
folded  arms,  Sally  Fairthom's  voice  whispered  eagerly  in 
bis  ear,  — 

"Gilbert — Gilbert!  now  is  your  chance  to  engage 
Martha  for  the  Virginia  reel ! " 

"  Let  me  choose  my  own  partners,  Sally !  *  he  said,  sa 
sternly,  that  she  opened  wide  her  black  eyes. 


100  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Martha,  fanning  herself  with  her  handkerchief  spread 
over  a  bent  willow-twig,  suddenly  passed  before  him,  like 
an  angel  in  the  moonlight.  A  soft,  tender  star  sparkled 
in  each  shaded  eye,  a  faint  rose-tint  flushed  her  cheeks, 
and  her  lips,  slightly  parted  to  inhale  the  clover-scented 
air,  were  touched  with  a  sweet,  consenting  smile. 

"  Martha ! " 

The  word  passed  Gilbert's  lips  almost  before  he  knew 
he  had  uttered  it.  Almost  a  whisper,  but  she  heard,  and, 
pausing,  turned  towards  him. 

"  Will  you  dance  with  me  now  ?  " 

"  Am  I  your  cJioice,  or  Sally's,  Gilbert  ?  I  overheard 
your  very  independent  remark." 

"  Mine  !  "  he  said,  with  only  half  truth.  A  deep  color 
shot  into  his  face,  and  he  knew  the  moonlight  revealed  it, 
but  he  forced  his  eyes  to  meet  hers.  Her  face  lost  its 
playful  expression,  and  she  said,  gently, — 

"  Then  I  accept" 

They  took  their  places,  and  the  interminable  Virginia 
reel  —  under  which  name  the  old-fashioned  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  was  known  —  commenced.  It  so  happened  that 
Gilbert  and  Mr.  Alfred  Barton  had  changed  their  recent 
places.  The  latter  stood  outside  the  space  allotted  to  the 
dance,  and  appeared  to  watch  Martha  Deane  and  her  new 
partner.  The  reviving  warmth  in  Gilbert's  bosom  instantly 
died,  and  gave  way  to  a  crowd  of  torturing  conjectures. 
He  went  through  his  part  in  the  dance  so  abstractedly, 
that  when  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  line,  Martha, 
out  of  friendly  consideration  for  him,  professed  fatigue  and 
asked  his  permission  to  withdraw  from  the  company.  He 
gave  her  his  arm,  and  they  moved  to  one  of  the  benches. 

"  You,  also,  seem  tired,  Gilbert,"  she  said. 

"  Yes  —  no ! "  he  answered,  confusedly,  feeling  that  he 
was  beginning  to  tremble.  He  stood  before  her  as  she 
sat,  moved  irresolutely,  as  if  to  leave,  and  then,  facing  hef 
with  a  powerful  effort,  he  exclaimed,  — 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  101 

"Martha,  do  you  know  what  people  say  about  Alfred 
Barton  and  yourself?" 

"  It  would  make  no  difference  if  I  did,"  she  answered ; 
"  people  will  say  anything." 

**  But  is  it  —  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Is  what  true  ?  "  she  quietly  asked. 

"  That  he  is  to  marry  you  ! "  The  words  were  said,  and 
ae  would  have  given  his  life  to  recall  them.  He  dropped 
his  head,  not  daring  to  meet  her  eyes. 

Martha  Deane  rose  to  her  feet,  and  stood  before  him. 
Then  he  lifted  his  head ;  the  moon  shone  full  upon  it, 
while  her  face  was  in  shadow,  but  he  saw  the  fuller  light 
of  her  eye,  the  firmer  curve  of  her  lip. 

"  Gilbert  Potter,"  she  said,  "  what  right  have  you  to  ask 
me  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  right  —  none,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice 
whose  suppressed,  husky  tones  were  not  needed  to  inter- 
pret the  pain  and  bitterness  of  his  face.  Then  he  quickly 
turned  away  and  left  her. 

Martha  Deane  remained  a  minute,  motionless,  standing 
as  he  left  her.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  she  could 
not  immediately  trust  herself  to  rejoin  the  gay  company. 
But  now  the  dance  was  over,  and  the  inseparable  Sally 
hastened  forward. 

"  Martha !  "  cried  the  latter,  hot  and  indignant,  "  what 
b  the  matter  with  Gilbert  ?  He  is  behaving  shamefully. 
I  saw  him  just  now  turn  away  from  you  as  if  you  were  a  — 
a  shock  of  com.  And  the  way  he  snapped  me  up  —  it  ii 
really  outrageous ! " 

"  It  seems  so,  truly,"  said  Martha.  But  she  kneir  that 
Gilbert  Potter  loved  her,  and  with  what  a  love. 


lOJ  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   EIVAL8. 

With  the  abundant  harvest  of  that  year,  and  the  sud 
den  and  universal  need  of  extra  laboi'  for  a  fortnight,  Gil- 
bert Potter  would  have  found  his  burden  too  heavy,  but 
for  welcome  help  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  On  the 
very  morning  that  he  first  thrust  his  sickle  into  the  ripened 
wheat,  Deb  Smith  made  her  appearance,  in  a  short-armed 
chemise  and  skirt  of  tow-cloth. 

"  I  knowed  ye  'd  want  a  hand,"  she  said,  "  without  sendin' 
to  ask.  I  '11  reap  ag'inst  the  best  man  in  Chester  County, 
and  you  won't  begrudge  me  my  bushel  o'  wheat  a  day,  when 
the  harvest 's  in." 

With  this  exordium,  and  a  pull  at  the  black  jug  under 
the  elder-bushes  in  the  fence-comer,  she  took  her  sickle 
and  bent  to  work.  It  was  her  boast  that  she  could  beat 
both  men  and  women  on  their  own  ground.  She  had  spun 
her  twenty-four  cuts  of  yarn,  i^n  a  day,  and  husked  her  fifly 
shocks  of  heavy  com.  For  Gilbert  she  did  her  best, 
amazing  him  each  day  with  a  fresh  performance,  and  was 
well  worth  the  additional  daily  quart  of  whiskey  which  she 
consumed. 

In  this  pressing,  sweltering  labor,  Gilbert  dulled,  though 
he  could  not  conquer,  his  unhappy  mood.  Mary  Potter, 
with  a  true  mother's  instinct,  surmised  a  trouble,  but  the 
indications  were  too  indefinite  for  conjecture.  She  could 
only  hope  that  her  son  had  not  been  called  upon  to  suffer  a 
fresh  reproach,  from  the  unremoved  stain  hanging  over  hit 
birth. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  108 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender's  company  at  this  time  mis  her 
greatest  relief,  in  a  double  sense.  No  ten  persons  in  Ken- 
nett  possessed  half  the  amount  of  confidences  which  were 
intrusted  to  this  single  lady ;  there  was  that  in  her  lace 
which  said  :  "  I  only  blab  what  I  choose,  and  what 's  locked 
ap,  is  locked  up."  This  was  tnie ;  she  was  the  greatest 
distributor  of  news,  and  the  closest  receptacle  of  secrets  — 
anomalous  as  the  two  characters  may  seem  —  that  evei 
blessed  a  country  community. 

Miss  Betsy,  like  Deb  Smith,  knew  that  she  could  be  of 
service  on  the  Potter  farm,  and,  although  her  stay  was 
perforce  short,  on  account  of  an  approaching  house-warm- 
ing near  Doe- Run,  her  willing  arms  helped  to  tide  Mary 
Potter  over  the  heaviest  labor  of  harvest  There  were 
thus  hours  of  afternoon  rest,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  busy 
season,  and  during  one  of  these  the  mother  opened  her 
heart  in  relation  to  her  son's  silent,  gloomy  moods. 

"  You  '11  perhaps  say  it 's  all  my  fancy,  Betsy,"  she  said, 
"  and  indeed  I  hope  it  is ;  but  1  know  you  see  more  than 
most  people,  and  two  heads  are  better  than  one.  How 
does  Gilbert  seem  to  you  ?  " 

Miss  Betsy  mused  awhile,  with  an  unusual  gravity  on 
her  long  face.  "  I  dunno,"  she  remarked,  at  length ;  "  I  've 
noticed  that  some  men  have  their  vapors  and  tantrums,  jist 
as  some  women  have,  and  Gilbert 's  of  an  age  to  —  well, 
Mary,  has  the  thought  of  his  marryin*  ever  come  into  your 
head?" 

"  No  1 "  exclaimed  Mary  Potter,  with  almost  a  frightened 
dr. 

"  I  11  be  bound !  Some  women  are  lookin*  out  for 
daughter-in-laws  before  their  sons  have  a  beard,  and  others 
think  theirs  is  only  fit  to  wear  short  jackets  when  they 
ought  to  be  raisin'  up  families.  I  dunno  but  what  it  '11  be 
ft  cross  to  you,  Mary,  —  you  set  so  much  store  by  Gilbert 
and  it 's  natural,. like,  that  you  should  want  to  have  him  all 
to  y'rself,  —  but  a  man  shall  leave  his  fatlier  and  mothei 


104  THE  STORY  OF  KEiOTETl 

and  cleave  unto  his  wife,  —  or  somethin'  like  it.  Yes,  I 
say  it,  although  nobody  clove  unto  me." 

Mary  Potter  said  nothing.  Her  face  grew  very  pale, 
and  such  an  expression  of  pain  came  into  it  that  Miss 
Betsy,  who  saw  everything  without  seeming  to  look  at  any- 
thing made  haste  to  add  a  consoling  word. 

"Indeed,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  now  I  come  to  consider  upon 
it,  you  won't  have  so  much  of  a  cross.  You  a'n't  the 
mother  you  've  showed  yourself  to  be,  if  you  're  not  anx- 
ious to  see  Gilbert  happy,  and  as  for  leavin'  his  mother, 
there  '11  be  no  leavin'  needful,  in  his  case,  but  on  the  con- 
trary, quite  the  reverse,  namely,  a  comin'  to  you.  And  it 's 
no  bad  fortin',  though  I  can't  say  it  of  my  own  experience ; 
but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  I  've  seen  the  likes  —  to 
have  a  brisk,  cheerful  daughter-in-law  keepin'  house,  and 
you  a-settin'  by  the  window,  knittin'  and  restin'  from  mom- 
in'  till  night,  and  maybe  little  caps  and  clothes  to  make, 
and  lots  o'  things  to  teach,  that  young  wives  don't  know 
o'  theirselves.  And  then,  after  awhile  you  '11  be  called 
'  Granny,'  but  you  won't  mind  it,  for  grandchildren  's  a 
mighty  comfort,  and  no  responsibility  like  your  own.  Why, 
I  've  knowed  women  that  never  seen  what  rest  or  comfort 
was,  till  they  'd  got  to  be  grandmothers !  " 

Something  in  this  homely  speech  touched  Mary  Potter's 
heart,  and  gave  her  the  relief  of  tears.  "  Betsy,"  she  said 
at  last,  "  I  have  had  a  heavy  burden  to  bear,  and  it  has 
made  me  weak." 

"  Made  me  weak,"  Miss  Betsy  repeated.  "  And  no  won- 
der.    Don't  think  I  can't  guess  that,  Mary." 

Here  two  tears  trickled  down  the  ridge  of  her  nose,  and 
she  furtively  wiped  them  off  while  adjusting  her  high  comb. 
Mary  Potter's  face  was  turned  towards  her  with  a  wistfU], 
appealing  expression,  which  she  understood. 

"  Mary,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  measure  people  with  a  two- 
foot  rule.  I  take  a  ten-foot  pole,  and  let  it  cover  all  that 
comes  under  it.    Them  that  does  their  dooty  to  Man,  I 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  104 

guess  won't  have  much  trouble  in  squarin'  accounts  with 
the  liord.  You  know  how  I  feel  towards  you  without  my 
tellin'  of  it,  and  them  that  's  quick  o'  the  tongue  a'n't 
always  full  o'  the  heart.  Now,  Mary,  I  know  as  plain  as 
if  you  *d  said  it,  that  there  's  somethin'  on  your  mind,  and 
you  dimno  whether  to  share  it  with  me  or  not.  What  I 
say  is,  don't  hurry  yourself;  I  'd  rather  show  fellow-feelin' 
than  cur*osity ;  so,  see  your  way  clear  first,  and  when  the 
tellin'  me  anything  can  help,  tell  it  —  not  before." 

"  It  would  n't  help  now,"  Mary  Potter  responded. 

"  Would  n't  help  now.  Then  wait  awhile.  Nothin'  *a 
so  dangerous  as  speakin'  before  the  time,  whomsoever  and 
wheresoever.  Folks  talk  o'  bridlin'  the  tongue ;  let  'em 
git  a  blind  halter,  say  I,  and  a  curb-bit,  and  a  martingale ! 
Not  that  I  set  an  example,  Goodness  knows,  for  mine  runs 
like  a  mill-clapper,  rickety-rick,  rickety-rick ;  but  never 
mind,  it  may  be  fast,  but  it  is  n't  loose ! " 

In  her  own  mysterious  way,  Miss  Betsy  succeeded  in 
imparting  a  good  deal  of  comfort  to  Mary  Potter.  She 
promised  "  J'>  keep  Gilbert  under  her  eyes,"  —  which,  in- 
deed, she  did,  quite  unconsciously  to  himself,  during  the 
last  two  days  of  her  stay.  At  table  she  engaged  him  in 
conversation,  bringing  in  references,  in  the  most  wonder- 
fully innocent  and  random  manner,  to  most  of  the  families 
in  the  neighborhood.  So  skilfully  did  she  operate  that 
even  Mary  Potter  failed  to  perceive  her  strategy.  Deb 
Smith,  sitting  bare-armed  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
and  eating  like  six  dragoons,  was  the  ostensible  target  of 
her  speech,  and  Gilbert  was  thus  stealthily  approached  in 
flank.  When  she  tied  her  bonnet-strings  to  leave,  and  the 
mother  accompanied  her  to  the  gate,  she  left  this  indefinite 
consolation  behind  her : 

"  Keep  up  your  sperrits,  Mary.  I  think  I  'm  on  the 
right  scent  about  Gilbert,  but  these  young  men  are  shy 
foxes.  Let  me  alone,  awhile  yet,  and  whatever  you  do,  let 
him  alone.    There  's  no  danger  —  not  even  a  snarl,  I 


106  THE  8T0RT   OF  KENNETT. 

^ess.  Notliin'  to  bother  your  head  about,  if  you  were  n  I 
his  mother.  Good  lack  !  if  I  'm  right,  you  '11  see  no  more 
o'  his  tantrums  in  two  months'  time  —  and  so,  good-bye  to 
you ! " 

The  oats  followed  close  upon  the  wheat  harvest,  and 
there  was  no  respite  from  labor  until  the  last  load  was 
hauled  into  the  barn,  filling  its  ample  bays  to  the  very 
rafters.  Then  Gilbert,  mounted  on  his  favorite  Roger 
rode  up  to  Kennett  Square  one  Saturday  afternoon,  in  obe- 
dience to  a  message  from  Mr.  Alfred  Barton,  informing 
him  that  the  other  gentlemen  would  there  meet  to  consult 
measures  for  mutual  protection  against  highwaymen  in 
general  and  Sandy  Flash  in  particular.  As  every  young 
man  in  the  neighborhood  owned  his  horse  and  musket, 
nothing  more  was  necessary  than  to  adopt  a  system  of 
action. 

The  meeting  was  held  in  the  bar-room  of  the  Unicom, 
and  as  every  second  man  had  his  own  particular  scheme  to 
advocate,  it  was  both  long  and  jioisy.  Many  thought  the 
action  unnecessary,  but  were  willing,  for  the  sake  of  the 
community,  to  give  their  services.  The  simplest  plan  —  to 
choose  a  competent  leader,  and  submit  to  his  management 
— never  occurred  to  these  free  and  independent  volunteers, 
until  all  other  means  of  unity  had  failed.  Then  Alfred 
Barton,  as  the  originator  of  the  measure,  was  chosen, 
and  presented  the  rude  but  sufficient  plan  which  had 
been  suggested  to  him  by  Dr.  Deane.  The  men  were  to 
meet  every  Saturday  evening  at  the  Unicorn,  and  exchange 
intelligence  ;  but  they  could  be  called  together  at  any  time 
by  a  summons  from  Barton.  The  landlord  of  the  Unicom 
was  highly  satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  but  no  one  no- 
ticed the  interest  with  which  the  ostler,  an  Irishman  named 
Dougherty,  listened  to  the  discussion. 

Barton's  horse  was  hitched  beside  Gilbert's,  and  as  the 
two  were  mounting,  the  former  said,  — 

"  If  you  're  going  home,  Gilbert,  why  not  coire  down 


THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT.  105 

OUT  lane,  and  go  through  by  Carson's.  "We  can  talk  the 
matter  over  a  little ;  if  there  's  any  running  to  do,  I  de- 
pend a  good  deal  on  your  horse." 

Gilbert  saw  no  reason  for  declining  this  invitation,  and 
the  two  rode  side  by  side  down  the  lane  to  the  Barton 
farm-house.  The  sun  was  still  an  hour  high,  but  a  fraoraat 
odor  of  broiled  herring  drifted  out  of  the  open  kitchen- 
window.  Barton  thereupon  urged  him  to  stop  and  take 
jupper,  with  a  cordiality  which  we  can  only  explain  by 
hinting  at  his  secret  intention  to  become  the  purchaser  of 
Gilbert's  horse. 

"  Old-man  Barton "  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  by  the 
window,  feebly  brandishing  his  stick  at  the  flies,  and  watch- 
ing his  daughter  Ann,  as  she  transferred  the  herrings  from 
the  gridiron  to  a  pewter  platter. 

"  Father,  this  is  Gilbert  Potter,"  said  Mr.  Alfred,  intro- 
ducing his  guest. 

The  bent  head  was  lifted  with  an  effort,  and  the  keen 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  young  man,  who  canie  forward  to 
take  the  crooked,  half-extended  hand. 

"  What  Gilbert  Potter  ?  "  he  croaked. 

]Mr.  Alfred  bit  his  lips,  and  looked  both  embarrassed  and 
annoyed.     But  he  could  do  no  less  than  say,  — 

"  Mary  Potter's  son." 

Gilbert  straightened  himself  proudly,  as  if  to  face  a 
coming  insult  After  a  long,  steady  gaze,  the  old  man  gave 
one  of  his  hieroglyphic  snorts,  and  then  muttered  to  him- 
self, —  "  Looks  like  her." 

During  the  meal,  he  was  so  occupied  with  the  labor  of 
feeding  himself,  that  he  seemed  to  forget  Gilbert's  pres- 
ence.  Bending  his  head  sideways,  from  time  to  time,  he 
jerked  out  a  croaking  question,  which  his  son,  whatever 
annoyance  he  might  feel,  was  force  i  to  answer  according 
to  the  old  man's  humor. 

« In  at  the  Doct«)r's,  boy  ?  " 

**  A  few  minutes,  daddy,  before  we  came  together.** 


108  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  See  her?     Was  she  at  home  ?  " 

"Yes,"  came  very  shortly  from  Mr.  Alfred's  lips;  hi* 
clenched  his  fists  under  the  table-cloth. 

**  That 's  right,  boy ;  stick  up  to  her ! "  and  he  chuckled 
and  munched  together  in  a  way  which  it  made  Gilbert  sick 
to  hear.  The  tail  of  the  lean  herring  on  his  plate  remained 
un tasted;  he  swallowed  the  thin  tea  which  Miss  Ann 
poured  out,  and  the  heavy  "  half-Indian  "  bread  with  a 
choking  sensation.  He  had  but  one  desire,  —  to  get  away 
from  the  room,  out  of  human  sight  and  hearing. 

Barton,  ill  at  ease,  and  avoiding  Gilbert's  eye,  accompa* 
nied  him  to  the  lane.  He  felt  that  the  old  man's  garrulity 
ought  to  be  explained,  but  knew  not  what  to  say.  Gilbert 
spared  him  the  trouble- 

"  When  are  we  to  wish  you  joy,  Barton  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
cold,  hard  voice. 

Barton  laughed  in  a  forced  way,  clutched  at  his  tawny 
whisker,  and  with  something  like  a  flush  on  his  heavy  face, 
answered  in  what  was  meant  to  be  an  indifferent  tone  : 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  joke  of  the  old  man's  —  dont  mean  anything." 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  joke  of  the  whole  neighborhood,  then ; 
I  have  heard  it  from  others." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  Barton  eagerly  asked.  "  Do  people  talk 
about  it  much  ?     What  do  they  say  ?  " 

This  exhibition  of  vulgar  vanity,  as  he  considered  it, 
was  so  repulsive  to  Gilbert,  in  his  desperate,  excited  condi- 
tion, that  for  a  moment  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 
Holding  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  he  walked  mechanically 
down  the  slope.  Barton  following  him. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  faced  the  latter,  and  said,  in  a 
■tern  voice  :  "  I  must  know,  first,  whether  you  are  betrothed 
to  Martha  Deane." 

His  manner  was  so  unexpectedly  solemn  and  peremp> 
tory  that  Barton,  startled  from  his  self-possessioo,  stao» 
mered, — 

**  N-no :  that  is,  not  yet." 


THE   STOKY    OF   KENNETT.  10* 

Another  pause.  Barton,  curious  to  know  how  fiir  gossip 
fiad  already  gone,  repeated  the  question : 

"  Well,  what  do  people  say  ?  " 

**  Some,  that  you  and  she  will  be  married,"  Gilbert  an- 
swered, speaking  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  "and  some 
that  you  won't.     Which  are  right  ?  " 

"  Damme,  if  /  know !  "  Barton  exclaimed,  returning  to 
his  customary  swagger.  It  was  quite  enough  that  the  mat- 
ter was  generally  talked  about,  and  he  had  said  nothing  to 
settle  it,  in  either  way.  But  his  manner,  more  than  his 
words,  convinced  Gilbert  that  there  was  no  betrothal  as 
yet,  and  that  the  vanity  of  being  regarded  as  the  success- 
ful suitor  of  a  lovely  girl  had  a  more  prominent  place  than 
love,  in  his  rival's  heart.  By  so  much  was  his  torture 
lightened,  and  the  passion  of  the  moment  subsided,  after 
having  so  nearly  betrayed  itself 

"  I  say,  Gilbert,"  Barton  presently  remarked,  walking  on 
towards  the  bars  which  led  into  the  meadow-field;  "it's 
time  you  were  looking  around  in  that  way,  hey  ?  " 

**  It  will  be  time  enough  when  I  am  out  of  debt" 

"  But  you  ought,  now,  to  have  a  wife  in  your  house." 

"  I  have  a  mother,  Barton." 

"  That 's  true,  Gilbert  Just  as  I  have  a  father.  The 
old  man's  queer,  as  you  saw  —  kept  me  out  of  marrying 
when  I  was  young,  and  now  drives  me  to  it  I  might  ha 
had  children  grown  "  — 

He  paused,  laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
Gilbert  fancied  that  he  saw  on  Barton's  coarse,  dull  face, 
the  fleeting  stamp  of  some  long-buried  regret,  and  a  little 
of  the  recent  bitterness  died  out  of  his  heart 

"  Good-bye !  "  he  said,  offering  his  hand  with  greater 
ease  than  he  would  have  thought  possible,  fifteen  minutes 
sooner. 

« Good-bye,  Gilbert !  Take  care  of  Roger.  Sandy 
Flash  has  a  fine  piece  of  horse-flesh,  but  you  beat  him 
•nee  —  Damnation  !     You  could  beat  him,  I  mean.    If  he 


110  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

comes  within  ten  miles  of  us,  1 11  have  the  summonses  oof 
in  no  time." 

Gilbert  cantered  lightly  down  the  meadow.  The  soft 
breath  of  the  summer  evening  fanned  his  face,  and  som& 
thing  of  the  peace  expressed  in  the  rich  repose  of  the 
landscape  fell  upon  his  heart  But  peace,  he  felt,  could 
only  come  to  him  through  love.  The  shame  upon  his  name 
—  the  slow  result  of  labor  —  even  the  painful  store  of 
memories  which  the  years  had  crowded  in  his  brain  — 
might  all  be  lightly  borne,  or  forgotten,  could  his  arms 
once  clasp  the  now  uncertain  treasure.  A  tender  mist 
came  over  his  deep,  dark  eyes,  a  passionate  longing 
breathed  in  his  softened  lips,  and  he  said  to  himself,  — 

"  I  would  lie  down  and  die  at  her  feet,  if  that  could 
make  her  happy  ;  but  how  to  live,  and  live  without  her  ?  ** 
This  was  a  darkness  which  his  mind  refused  to  entertain. 
Love  sees  no  justice  on  Earth  or  in  Heaven,  that  includes 
not  its  own  fulfilled  desire. 

Before  reaching  home,  he  tried  to  review  the  situatdoii 
calmly.  Barton's  true  relation  to  Martha  Deane  he  par- 
tially suspected,  so  far  as  regarded  the  former's  vanity  and 
his  slavish  subservience  to  his  father's  will ;  but  he  was 
equally  avaricious,  and  it  was  well  known  in  Kennett  that 
Martha  possessed,  or  would  possess,  a  handsome  property 
in  her  own  right.  Gilbert,  therefore,  saw  every  reason  to 
believe  that  Barton  was  an  actual,  if  not  a  very  passionate 
wooer. 

That  fact,  however,  was  in  itself  of  no  great  importance, 
unless  Dr.  Deane  favored  the  suit  The  result  depended 
on  Martha  herself ;  she  was  called  an  "  independent  girl," 
which  she  certainly  was,  by  contrast  with  other  girls  of 
the  same  age.  It  was  this  free,  firm,  independent,  yet 
wholly  womanly  spirit  which  Gilbert  honored  in  her,  and 
which  (unless  her  father's  influence  were  too  powerful) 
woulJ  yet  save  her  to  him,  if  she  but  loved  him.  Then 
he  felt  that  his  nervous,  inflammable  fear  of  Barton  wai 


trtR  StORY  OF  KENNETl-.  1^1 

incompatible  with  tnie  honor  for  her,  with  trust  in  her  pure 
and  lofty  nature.  If  she  were  so  easily  swayed,  how  could 
she  stand  the  test  which  he  was  still  resolved  —  nay,  forced 
by  circumstances  —  to  apply  ? 

With  something  l;ke  shanje  ol  his  past  excitement,  yet 
with  strength  which  had  grown  out  of  it,  his  reflectioni 
vere  terminated  by  Koser  stopping  at  the  barn-yard  gat*. 


112  THE   STORY    OV    KENNETT. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


GUESTS     AT     POTTERS. 


A  wiSEK  or  two  later,  there  was  trouble,  but  not  of  ■ 
very  unusual  kind,  in  the  Fairthorn  household.  It  wai 
Sunday,  the  dinner  was  on  the  table,  but  Joe  and  Jake 
were  not  to  be  found.  The  garden,  the  corn-crib,  the  bam, 
and  the  grove  below  the  house,  were  searched,  without  de- 
tecting the  least  sign  of  the  truants.  Finally  Sally's  eyes 
descried  a  remarkable  object  moving  over  the  edge  of  the 
hill,  from  the  direction  of  the  Philadelphia  road.  It  was  a 
huge  round  creature,  something  like  a  cylindrical  tortoise, 
slowly  advancing  upon  four  short,  dark  legs. 

"  What  upon  earth  is  that  ?  "  she  cried. 

All  eyes  were  brought  to  bear  upon  this  phenomenon 
which  gradually  advanced  until  it  reached  the  fence.  Then 
it  suddenly  separated  into  three  parts,  the' round  back  fall- 
ing off,  whereupon  it  was  seized  by  two  figures  and  lifted 
upon  the  fence. 

"  It  's  the  best  wash-tub,  I  do  declare ! "  said  Sally ; 
"  whatever  have  they  been  doing  with  it  ?  " 

Having  crossed  the  fence,  the  boys  lifted  the  inverted 
tub  over  their  heads,  and  resumed  theii  march.  When 
they  came  near  enough,  it  could  be  seen  that  their  breeches 
and  stockings  were  not  only  dripping  wet,  but  streaked 
with  black  swamp-mud.  This  accounted  for  the  unsteady, 
hesitating  course  of  the  tub,  which  at  times  seemed  inclined 
to  approach  the  house,  and  then  tacked  away  towards  the 
comer  of  the  barn-yard  wall.    A  few  vigorous  calls,  how* 


THE  STOBY  OF  KENNETT.  118 

ever,  appeared  to  convince  it  that  the  direct  course  was  the 
best,  for  it  set  out  with  a  grotesque  bobbing  trot,  which 
brought  it  speedily  to  the  kitchen-door. 

Then  Joe  and  Jake  crept  out,  dripping  to  the  vei^ 
crowns  of  their  heads,  with  their  Sunday  shirts  and  jack* 
ets  in  a  horrible  plight  The  truth,  slowly  gathered  from 
their  mutual  accusations,  was  this :  they  had  resolved  to 
have  a  boating  excursion  on  Redley  Creek,  and  had  ab- 
stracted  the  tub  that  morning  when  nobody  was  in  the 
kitchen.  Slipping  down  through  the  wood,  they  had 
launched  it  in  a  piece  of  still  water.  Joe  got  in  first,  and 
when  Jake  let  go  of  the  tub,  it  tilted  over ;  then  he  held  it 
for  Jake,  who  squatted  in  the  centre,  and  floated  success- 
fully down  the  stream  until  Joe  pushed  him  with  a  pole, 
and  made  the  tub  lose  its  balance.  Jake  fell  into  the  mud, 
and  the  tub  drifted  away  ;  they  had  chased  it  nearly  to  the 
road  before  they  recovered  it 

"  You  bad  boys,  what  shall  I  do  with  you  ? "  cried 
Mother  Fairthorn.  "  Put  on  your  every-day  clothes,  and 
go  to  the  garret  Sally,  you  can  ride  down  to  Potter's 
with  the  pears ;  they  won't  keep,  and  I  expect  Gilbert  has 
no  time  to  come  for  any,  this  summer." 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  Sally,  "  but  Gilbert  don't  deserve  it  The 
way  he  snapped  me  up  at  Hallowell's  —  and  he  has  n't 
been  here  since  ! " 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  him,  Sally  ! "  said  the  kindly  old 
woman  ;  nor  was  Sally's  more  than  a  surface  grudge.  She 
had  quite  a  sisterly  affection  for  Gilbert  and  was  rather 
hurt  than  angered  by  what  he  had  said  in  the  fret  of  a 
mood  which  she  could  not  comprehend. 

Tlie  old  mare  rejoiced  in  a  new  bridle,  with  a  head-stall 
of  scarlet  morocco,  and  Sally  would  have  made  a  stately 
appearance,  but  for  the  pears,  which,  stowed  in  the  two 
ends  of  a  grain-bag,  and  hung  over  the  saddle,  would  not 
quite  be  covered  by  her  riding-skirt  She  trudged  on 
•lowly,  down  the  lonely  road,  but  had  barely  crossed  the 
• 


114  THE  STOEY  OF  KENNETT. 

level  below  Kennett  Square,  when  there  came  a  quick 
Bound  of  hoofs  behind  her. 

It  was  Mark  and  Martha  Deane,  who  presently  dre^ 
rem,  one  on  either  side  of  her. 

"  Don't  ride  fast,  please,"  Sally  begged ;  "  /  can%  foi 
fear  of  smashing  the  pears.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Falconer's,"  Martha  replied ;  "  Fanny  promised  to 
lend  me  some  new  patterns ;  but  I  had  great  trouble  b 
getting  Mark  to  ride  with  me." 

"  Not,  if  you  will  ride  along,  Sally,"  Mark  rejoined. 
"  We  '11  go  with  you  first,  and  then  you  '11  come  with  us 
What  do  you  say,  Martha  ?  " 

"  I  '11  answer  for  Martha ! "  cried  Sally  ;  "  I  am  going  to 
Potter's,  and  it 's  directly  on  your  way." 

''  Just  the  thing,"  said  Mark ;  "  I  have  a  little  business 
with  Gilbert" 

It  was  all  settled  before  Martha's  vote  had  been  taken, 
and  she  accepted  the  decision  without  remark.  She  was 
glad,  for  Sally's  sake,  that  they  had  fallen  in  with  her,  for 
she  had  shrewdly  watched  Mark,  and  found  that,  little  by 
little,  a  serious  liking  for  her  friend  was  sending  its  roots 
down  through  the  gay  indifference  of  his  surface  mood. 
Perhaps  she  was  not  altogether  calm  in  spirit  at  the  pros- 
pect of  meeting  Gilbert  Potter ;  but,  if  so,  no  sign  of  the 
agitation  betrayed  itself  in  her  face. 

Gilbert,  sitting  on  the  porch,  half-hidden  behind  a  mass 
of  blossoming  trumpet-flower,  was  aroused  from  his  Sab- 
bath reverie  by  the  sound  of  hoofs.  Sally  Fairthom's  voice 
followed,  reaching  even  the  ears  of  Mary  Potter,  who 
thereupon  issued  from  the  house  to  greet  the  unexpected 
guest  Mark  had  already  dismounted,  and  although  Sally 
protested  that  she  would  remain  in  the  saddle,  the  strong 
arms  held  out  to  her  proved  too  much  of  a  temptation  ;  it 
was  so  charming  to  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  to 
tiave  his  take  her  by  the  waist,  and  lift  her  to  the  ground 
go  lightly  I 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  115 

While  Mark  was  performing  tliis  service,  (and  evidently 
mth  as  much  deliberation  as  possible,)  Gilbert  could  do  no 
less  than  offer  his  aid  to  Martha  Deane,  whose  sudden  ap- 
parition he  had  almost  incredulously  realized.  A  bright, 
absorbing  joy  kindled  his  sad,  strong  features  into  beauty, 
and  Martha  felt  her  cheeks  grow  warm,  in  spite  of  herself 
as  their  eyes  met.  The  hands  that  touched  her  waist  were 
firm,  but  no  hands  had  ever  before  conveyed  to  her  heart 
auch  a  sense  of  gentleness  and  tenderness,  and  though  her 
own  gloved  hand  rested  but  a  moment  on  his  shoulder,  the 
action  seemed  to  her  almost  like  a  caress. 

"  How  kind  of  you  —  all  —  to  come ! "  said  Gilbert, 
feeling  that  his  voice  expressed  too  much,  and  his  words 
too  little. 

"  The  credit  of  coming  is  not  mine,  Gilbert,"  she  an- 
swered. "  We  overtook  Sally,  and  gave  her  our  company 
for  the  sake  of  hers,  afterwards.  But  I  shall  Uke  to  take  a 
look  at  your  place ;  how  pleasant  you  are  making  it ! " 

"  You  are  the  first  to  say  so ;  I  shall  always  remember 
that!" 

Mary  Potter  now  advanced,  with  grave  yet  friendly  wel- 
come, and  would  have  opened  her  best  room  tc  the  guests, 
but  the  bowery  porch,  with  its  swinging  scarlet  bloom, 
haunted  by  humming-birds  and  hawk-moths,  wooed  them 
eo  take  their  seats  in  its  shade.  The  noise  of  a  plunging 
cascade,  which  restored  the  idle  mill-water  to  its  parted 
stream,  made  a  mellow,  continuous  music  in  the  air.  The 
high  road  was  visible  at  one  point,  across  the  meadow,  just 
where  it  entered  the  wood  ;  otherwise,  the  seclusion  of  the 
place  was  complete. 

"  You  could  not  have  found  a  lovelier  home,  M — 
Mary,"  said  Martha,  terrified  to  think  how  near  the  words 
'^Afrs.  Potter"  had  been  to  her  lips.  But  she  had  recov- 
ered herself  so  promptly  that  the  rfcsitation  was  not  no- 
ticed. 

« Many  people  think  the  house  ought  to  be  upon  the 


116  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETl. 

road,"  Mary  Potter  replied,  "  but  Gilbert  and  I  like  it  as  i1 
is.  Yes,  I  hope  it  will  be  a  good  home,  when  we  can  call 
it  our  own." 

"  Mother  is  a  little  impatient,"  said  Gilbert,  "  and  per- 
haps I  am  also.  But  if  we  have  health,  it  won't  be  very 
long  to  wait." 

"  That 's  a  thing  soon  learned  ! "  cried  Mark.  "  I  mean 
to  be  impatient.  Why,  when  I  was  doing  journey-work,  I 
was  as  careless  as  the  day  's  long,  and  so  from  hand  to 
mouth  did  n't  trouble  me  a  bit ;  but  now,  I  ha'  n't  been 
undertaking  six  months,  and  it  seems  that  I  feel  worried  if 
I  don't  get  all  the  jobs  going  !  " 

Martha  smiled,  well  pleased  at  this  confession  of  the 
change,  which  she  knew  better  how  to  interpret  than  Mark 
himself.     But  Sally,  in  her  innocence,  remarked : 

"Oh  Mark!  that  is  n't  right" 

"  I  suppose  it  is  n't.  But  maybe  you  've  got  to  wish  for 
more  than  you  get,  in  order  to  get  what  you  do.  I  guess  I 
take  tilings  pretty  easy,  on  the  whole,  for  it 's  nobody's  na- 
ture to  be  entirely  satisfied.  Gilbert,  will  you  be  satisfied 
when  your  farm  's  paid  for  ?  " 

"No!"  answered  Gilbert  with  an  emphasis,  the  sound 
of  which,  as  soon  as  uttered,  smote  him  to  the  heart  He 
had  not  thought  of  his  mother.  She  clasped  her  hands 
convulsively,  and  looked  at  him,  but  his  face  was  turned 
away. 

"  Why,  Gilbert !  "  exclaimed  Sally. 

**  I  mean,"  he  said,  striving  to  collect  his  thoughts,  "  that 
diere  is  something  more  than  property  "  —  but  how  should 
he  go  on  ?  Could  he  speak  of  the  family  relation,  then 
and  there  ?  Of  honor  in  the  community,  the  respect  of  his 
neighbors,  without  seeming  to  refer  to  the  brand  upon  his 
and  his  mother's  name  ?  No ;  of  none  of  these  things. 
Witli  sudden  energy,  he  turned  upon  himself,  and  contin* 
lied: 

"I  shall  not  feel  satisfied  until  T  am  cured  of  my  own 


THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT.  H7 

Impatience  —  until  I  can  better  control  iny  temper,  »nd  gel 
the  weeds  and  rocks  and  stumps  out  of  myself  as  well  aa 
out  of  my  farm." 

"  Then  you  've  got  a  job !  "  Mark  laughed.  "  I  think 
your  fields  are  pretty  tolerable  clean,  what  I  've  seen  of 
'em.  Nobody  can  say  they  're  not  well  fenced  in.  Why, 
compared  with  you,  I  'm  an  open  common,  like  the  Waste- 
lands, down  on  Whitely  Creek,  and  everybody's  cattle  run 
over  me ! " 

Mark's  thoughtlessness  was  as  good  as  tact  They  all 
laughed  heartily  at  his  odd  continuation  of  the  simile,  and 
Mai'tha  hastened  to  say  : 

"  For  my  part,  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  such  an  open 
common,  Mark,  or  Gilbert  so  well  fenced  in.  But  even  if 
you  are,  a  great  many  things  may  be  hidden  in  a  clearing, 
and  some  people  are  tall  enough  to  look  over  a  high  hedge. 
Betsy  Lavender  says  some  men  tell  all  about  themselves 
without  saying  a  word,  while  others  talk  till  Doomsday  and 
tell  nothing." 

"  And  tell  nothing,"  gravely  repeated  Mark,  whereat  no 
one  could  repress  a  smile,  and  Sally  laughed  outright 

Mary  Potter  had  not  mingled  much  in  the  society  of 
Kennett,  and  did  not  know  that  this  imitation  of  good  Miss 
Betsy  was  a  very  common  thing,  and  had  long  ceased  to 
mean  any  harm.  It  annoyed  her,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty 
to  say  a  word  for  her  friend. 

"  There  is  not  a  better  or  kinder-hearted  woman  in  the 
county,"  she  said,  "  than  just  Betsy  Lavender.  With  all 
her  odd  ways  of  speech,  she  talks  the  best  of  sense  and 
wisdom,  and  I  don't  know  who  I  'd  sooner  take  for  a  guide 
m  times  of  trouble." 

"  You  could  not  give  Betsy  a  higher  place  than  she  de- 
serves," Martha  answered.  "  We  all  esteem  her  as  a  dear 
friend,  and  as  the  best  helper  where  help  is  needed.  She 
has  been  almost  a  mother  to  me." 

Sally  felt  rebuked,  and  exclaimed  tearfully,  with  her 


118  THE  STORY   OF   KENNEIT. 

usual  impetuous  candor,  —  "Now  you  know  I  meant  iHJ 
harm ;  it  was  all  Mark's  doing  !  " 

"  If  you  've  anything  against  me,  Sally,  I  forgive  you  for 
it  It  is  n't  in  my  nature  to  bear  malice,"  said  Mark,  with  so 
serious  an  air,  that  poor  Sally  was  more  bewildered  than 
ever.  Gilbert  and  Martha,  however,  could  not  restrain 
their  laughter  at  the  fellow's  odd,  reckless  humor,  where- 
upon Sally,  suddenly  comprehending  the  joke,  sprang  from 
her  seat.  Mark  leaped  from  the  porch,  and  darted  around 
the  house,  followed  by  Sally  with  mock-angry  cries  and 
brandishings  of  her  riding-whip. 

The  scene  was  instantly  changed  V>  Gilbert's  eyes.  It 
was  wonderful !  There,  on  the  porch  of  the  home  he  so 
soon  hoped  to  call  his  own,  sat  his  mother,  Martha  Deane, 
and  himself  The  two  former  had  turned  towards  each 
other,  and  were  talking  pleasantly  ;  the  hum  of  the  hawk- 
moths,  the  mellow  plunge  of  the  water,  and  the  stir  of  the 
.soft  summer  breeze  in  the  leaves,  made  a  sweet  accom- 
paniment to  their  voices.  His  brain  grew  dizzy  with 
yearning  to  fix  that  chance  companionship,  and  make  it 
the  boundless  fortune  of  his  life.  Under  his  habit  of  re- 
pression, his  love  for  her  had  swelled  and  gathered  to  such 
an  intensity,  that  it  seemed  he  must  either  speak  or  die. 

Presently  the  rollicking  couple  made  their  appearance. 
Sally's  foot  had  caught  in  her  riding-skirt  as  she  ran, 
throwing  her  at  full  length  on  the  sward,  and  Mark,  in 
picking  her  up,  had  possessed  himself  of  the  whip.  She 
was  not  hurt  in  the  least,  (her  life  having  been  a  succes- 
sion of  tears  and  tumbles,)  but  Mark's  arm  found  it  neces- 
sary to  encircle  her  waist,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  from 
the  support  until  they  came  within  sight  of  the  porch. 

It  was  now  time  for  the  guests  to  leave,  but  Mary  Pot- 
ter must  first  produce  h'jr  cakes  and  currant-wine,  —  the 
latter  an  old  and  highly  superior  article,  for  there  had 
been,  alas  !  too  few  occasions  which  called  for  its  use. 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Mark,  as  they  moved  towards  the  gate, 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  II9 

"why  can't  you  catch  and  saddle  Roger,  and  ride  with  us 
You  have  nothing  to  do  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  would  like  —  but  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  Falconer's;  that  is,  the  girls;  but  we  won't  stay 
for  supper  —  I  don't  fancy  quality  company." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Gilbert,  with  a  gloomy  face.  «I  have 
never  visited  Falconer's,  and  they  might  not  thank  you 
for  introducing  me." 

He  looked  at  Martha,  as  he  spoke.  She  understood 
him,  and  gave  him  her  entire  sympathy  and  pity,  —  yet 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  propose  giving  up  the  visit, 
solely  for  his  sake.  It  was  not  want  of  independence,  but 
a  maidenly  shrinking  from  the  inference  of  the  act,  which 
kept  her  silent. 

MarK,  however,  cut  through  the  embarrassment.  **  1 11 
tell  you  what,  Gilbert ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  go  and  get 
Roger  from  the  field,  while  we  ride  c^n  to  Falconer's.  If 
the  girls  will  promise  not  to  be  too  long  about  their  pat- 
terns and  their  gossip,  and  what  not,  we  can  be  back  to 
the  lane-end  by  the  time  you  get  there ;  then  we  '11  ride 
up  t'  other  branch  o'  Redley  Creek,  to  the  cross-road,  and 
out  by  Hallowell's.  I  want  to  have  a  squint  at  the  houses 
and  bams  down  that  way ;  nothing  ^like  business,  you 
know ! " 

IMark  thought  he  was  very  cunning  in  thus  disposing  of 
Martha  during  the  ride,  unconscious  of  the  service  he  was 
offering  to  Gilbert  The  latter's  eagerness  shone  from 
his  eyes,  but  still  he  looked  at  Martha,  trembling  for  a 
sign  that  should  decide  his  hesitation.  Her  lids  fell  before 
his  gaze,  and  a  faint  color  came  into  her  face,  yet  she  did 
not  turn  away.  This  time  it  was  Sally  Fairthom  who 
spoke. 

"  Five  minutes  will  be  enough  for  xis,  Mark,"  she  said 
"I'm  not  much  acquainted  with  Fanny  Falconer.  So^ 
Gilbert,  hoist  Manha  into  her  saddle,  and  go  for  Roger." 

He  opened  the  gate  for  them,  and  then  climbed  over 


180  THE  STORA    OF  KENNETi 

the  fence  into  the  hill-field  above  his  house.  Having 
reached  the  crest,  he  stopped  to  watch  the  three  riding 
abreast,  on  a  smart  trot,  down  the  glen.  Sally  looked 
back,  saw  him,  and  waved  her  hand  ;  then  Mark  and  Mar« 
tha  turned,  giving  no  sign,  yet  to  his  eyes  there  seemed  a 
:ertain  expectancy  in  the  movement. 

Roger  came  from  the  farthest  corner  of  the  field  at  Im 
call,  and  followed  him  down  the  hill  to  the  bars,  with  the 
obedient  attachment  of  a  dog.  When  he  had  carefully 
brushed  and  then  saddled  the  horse,  he  went  to  seek  his 
mother,  who  was  already  making  preparations  for  their 
ourly  supper. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  ride  a  little  way.** 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully  and  questloningly,  as  if  she 
would  fain  have  asked  more  ;  but  only  said,  — 

**  Won't  you  be  home  to  supper,  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,  but  don't  wait  a  minute,  if  I  'm  not  here 
when  it 's  ready." 

He  turned  quickly,  as  if  fearful  of  a  further  question, 
and  the  next  moment  was  in  the  saddle. 

The  trouble  in  Mary  Potter's  face  increased.  Sighing 
sorely,  she  followed  to  the  bridge  of  the  bam,  and  pres- 
ently descried  him,  beyond  the  mill,  cantering  lightly 
down  the  road.  Then,  lifting  her  arms,  as  in  a  blind 
appeal  for  help,  she  let  them  fall  again,  and  walked  slowl| 
back  to  the  house. 


THE    STORY    OF    KENNETT.  121 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    EVENTS    OF    AN"     EVENING. 

At  the  first  winding  of  the  creek,  Gilbert  drew  rein, 
with  a  vague,  half-cunscious  sense  of  escape.  The  eye 
which  had  followed  him  thus  far  was  turned  away  at  last. 

For  half  a  mile  the  road  lay  through  a  lovely  solitude 
of  shade  and  tangled  bowery  thickets,  beside  the  stream. 
The  air  was  soft  and  tempered,  and  filled  the  glen  like  the 
breath  of  some  utterly  peaceful  and  happy  creature ;  yet 
over  Gilbert's  heart  there  brooded  another  atmosphere 
than  this.  The  su'*riness  that  precedes  an  emotional  crisis 
weighed  heavily  upon  him. 

No  man,  to  whom  Nature  has  granted  her  highe^t  ^ifl, 
—  that  of  expression,  —  can  understand  the  pain  endured 
by  one  of  strong  feelings,  to  whom  not  only  this  gift  has 
been  denied,  but  who  must  also  wrestle  with  an  inherited  re- 
tJcence.  It  is  well  that  in  such  cases  a  kindly  law  exists,  to 
aid  the  helpless  heart.  The  least  portion  of  the  love  which 
lights  the  world  has  been  told  in  words ;  it  works,  attracts, 
and  binds  in  silence.  The  eye  never  knows  its  own  desire, 
the  hand  its  warmth,  the  voice  its  tenderness,  nor  the  heart 
its  unconscious  speech  through  these,  and  a  thousand  other 
vehicles.  Every  endeavor  to  hide  the  special  fact  betrays 
ihe  feeling  from  which  it  sprang. 

Like  all  men  of  limited  culture,  Gilbert  felt  his  helplesa- 
ness  keenly.  His  mind,  usually  clear  in  its  operations,  if 
somewhat  slow  and  cautious,  refused  to  assist  him  here ; 
it  lay  dead  or  apathetic  in  an  air  surcharged  with  passion. 
An  anxious  expectancy  enclosed  him  with  stifling  pressure} 


122  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

he  felt  that  it  must  be  loosened,  but  knew  not  how.  His 
craving  for  words — words  swift,  clear,  and  hot  as  lightning 
through  which  his  heart  might  discharge  itself —  haunted 
him  like  a  furious  hunger. 

The  road,  rising  out  of  the  glen,  passed  around  the  brow 
of  a  grassy  hill,  whence  he  could  look  across  a  lateral  valley 
to  the  Falconer  farm-house.  Pausing  here,  he  plainly 
descried  a  stately  "  chair  "  leaning  on  its  thills,  in  the  shade 
of  the  weeping- willow,  three  horses  hitched  side  by  side  to 
the  lane-fence,  and  a  faint  glimmer  of  color  between  the 
mounds  of  box  which  almost  hid  the  porch.  It  was  very 
evident  to  his  mind  that  the  Falconers  had  other  visitors, 
and  that  neither  Mark  nor  Sally,  (whatever  might  be 
Martha  Deane's  inclination,)  would  be  likely  to  prolong 
their  stay;  so  he  slowly  rode  on,  past  the  lane-end,  and 
awaited  them  at  the  ford  beyond. 

It  was  not  long  —  though  the  wood  on  the  western  hill 
already  threw  its  shadow  into  the  glen  —  before  the  sound 
of  voices  and  hoofs  emerged  from  the  lane.  Sally's  re- 
mark reached  him  first : 

"  They  may  be  nice  people  enough,  for  aught  I  know, 
but  their  ways  are  not  my  ways,  and  there  's  no  use  in 
trying  to  mix  them." 

"  That 's  a  fact ! "  said  Mark.  «  Hallo,  here  *s  Gilbert, 
ahead  of  us ! " 

They  rode  into  the  stream  together,  and  let  their  horses 
drink  from  the  clear,  swift-flowing  water.  In  Mark's  and 
Sally's  eyes,  Gilbert  was  as  grave  and  impassive  as  usual, 
but  Martha  Deane  was  conscious  of  a  strange,  warm,  subtle 
power,  which  seemed  to  envelop  her  as  she  drew  near  him. 
Her  face  glowed  with  a  sweet,  unaccustomed  flush ;  his 
was  pale,  and  the  shadow  of  his  brows  lay  heavier  upon  his 
eyes.  Fate  was  already  taking  up  the  invisible,  floating 
filaments  of  these  two  existences,  and  weaving  them  to- 
gether. 

Of  course  it  happened,  and  of  course  by  the  purest  acci* 


THE  STORY  OF  KKNNETT  ISft 

dent,  that  Mark  and  Sally  first  reached  the  opposito  bauk, 
and  took  the  narrow  wood-road,  where  the  loose,  brierj 
sprays  of  the  thickets  brushed  them  on  either  side.  Sally's 
hat,  and  probably  her  head,  would  have  been  carried  oflF 
by  a  projecting  branch,  had  not  Mark  thrown  his  arm 
around  her  neck  and  forcibly  bent  her  forwards.  Then 
she  shrieked  and  struck  at  him  with  her  riding-whip, 
while  Mark's  laugh  woke  all  the  echoes  of  the  woods. 

"  I  say,  Gilbert ! "  he  cried,  turning  back  in  his  saddle, 
"  I  '11  hold  you  responsible  for  Martha's  head ;  it 's  as  much 
as  /can  do  to  keep  Sally's  on  her  shoulders." 

Gilbert  looked  at  his  companion,  as  she  rode  slowly 
by  his  side,  through  the  cool,  mottled  dusk  of  the  woods. 
She  had  drawn  the  strings  of  her  beaver  through  a  button- 
hole of  her  riding-habit,  and  allowed  it  to  hang  upon  her 
back.  The  motion  of  the  horse  gave  a  gentle,  undulating 
grace  to  her  erect,  self-reliant  figure,  and  her  lips,  slightly 
parted,  breathed  maidenly  trust  and  consent.  She  turned 
her  face  towards  him  and  smiled,  at  Mark's  words. 

**  The  warning  is  unnecessary,"  he  said.  "  You  will  give 
me  no  chance  to  take  care  of  you,  Martha." 

"  Is  it  not  better  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  hesitated ;  he  would  have  said  "  No,"  but  finally 
evaded  a  direct  answer. 

"  I  would  be  glad  enough  to  do  you  a  service  —  even  so 
little  as  that,"  were  his  words,  and  the  tender  tone  in  which 
they  were  spoken  made  itself  evident  to  his  own  ears. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  Gilbert,"  she  answered,  so  kindly  and 
cordially  that  he  was  smitten  to  the  heart.  Had  she  fal- 
tered in  her  reply,  —  had  she  blushed  and  kept  silence,  — 
his  hope  would  have  seized  the  evidence  and  rushed  to 
the  trial ;  but  this  was  the  frankness  of  friendship,  not  the 
timidity  of  love.  She  could  not,  then,  suspect  his  passion, 
and  ah,  how  the  risks  of  its  utterance  were  multiplied  ! 

Meanwhile,  the  wonderful  glamour  of  her  presence  — 
tiiat  irresistible  influence  which  at  once  takes  hold  of  bodj 


124  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

and  spirit  —  had  entered  into  every  cell  of  his  blood. 
Thought  and  memory  were  blurred  into  nothingness  bj 
this  one  overmastering  sensation.  Riding  through  the 
lonely  woods,  out  of  shade  into  yellow,  level  sunshine,  in 
the  odors  of  minty  meadows  and  moist  spices  of  the  creek- 
side,  they  twain  seemed  to  him  to  be  alone  in  the  world 
If  they  loved  not  each  other,  why  should  not  the  leaves 
shrivel  and  fall,  the  hills  split  asunder,  and  the  sky  rain 
death  upon  them?  Here  she  moved  at  his  side  —  he 
could  stretch  out  his  hand  and  touch  her ;  his  heart  sprang 
towaids  her,  his  arms  ached  for  very  yearning  to  clasp 
her,  —  his  double  nature  demanded  her  with  the  will  and 
entreated  for  her  with  the  affection !  Under  all,  felt 
though  not  suspected,  glowed  the  vast  primal  instinct  upon 
which  the  strength  of  manhood  and  of  womanhood  is 
based. 

Sally  and  Mark,  a  hundred  yards  in  advance,  now  thrown 
into  sight  and  now  hidden  by  the  windings  of  the  road, 
were  so  pleasantly  occupied  with  each  other  that  they  took 
no  heed  of  the  pair  behind  theni.  Gilbert  was  silent; 
speech  was  mockery,  unless  it  gave  the  words  which  he 
did  not  dare  to  pronounce.  His  manner  was  sullen  and 
churlish  in  Martha's  eyes,  he  suspected ;  but  so  it  must  be, 
unless  a  miracle  were  sent  to  aid  him.  She,  riding  as 
quietly,  seemed  to  meditate,  apparently  unconscious  of  his 
presence ;  how  could  he  know  that  she  had  never  before 
been  so  vitally  conscious  of  it  ? 

The  long  rays  of  sunset  withdrew  to  the  tree-tops,  and 
a  deeper  hush  fell  upon  the  land.  The  road  which  had 
mounted  along  the  slope  of  a  stubble-field,  now  dropped 
again  into  a  wooded  hollow,  where  a  tree,  awkwardly  felled, 
lay  across  it.  Roger  pricked  up  his  ears  and  leaped  lightly 
over.  Martha's  horse  followed,  taking  the  log  easily,  but 
she  reined  him  up  the  next  moment,  uttering  a  slight  ex- 
clamation, ard  stretched  out  her  hand  wistfully  towardi 
Gilbert 


THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT.  124 

I'o  seize  it  and  bring  Ro jer  to  a  stand  was  the  work  of 
•n  ia'itant.     "  What  is  the  matter,  Martha  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  think  the  girth  is  broken,"  said  she.  "  The  saddle 
is  loose,  and  I  was  nigh  losing  my  balance.  Thank  you 
I  can  sit  steadily  now." 

Gilbert  sprang  to  the  ground  and  hastened  to  her  assist- 
ance. 

"  Yes,  it  is  broken,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can  give  you  mine 
You  had  better  dismount,  though  ;  see,  I  will  hold  the 
pommel  firm  with  one  hand,  while  I  lift  you  down  with  the 
other.  Not  too  fast,  I  am  strong ;  place  your  hands  on 
my  shoulders  —  so  ! " 

She  bent  forward  and  laid  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders. 
Then,  as  she  slid  gently  down,  his  right  arm  crept  around 
her  waist,  holding  her  so  firmly  and  securely  that  she  had 
left  the  saddle  and  hung  in  its  support  while  her  feet  had 
not  yet  touched  the  earth.  Her  warm  breath  was  on  Gil- 
bert's forehead  ;  her  bosom  swept  his  breast,  and  the  arm 
that  until  then  had  supported,  now  swiftly,  tenderly,  irre- 
sistibly embraced  her.  Trembling,  thrilling  from  head  to 
foot,  utterly  unable  to  control  the  mad  impidse  of  the  mo- 
ment, he  drew  her  to  his  heart  and  laid  his  lips  to  hers. 
All  that  he  would  have  said  —  all.  and  more  than  all, 
that  words  could  have  expressed  —  was  now  said,  without 
words.  His  kiss  clung  as  if  it  were  the  last  this  side  of 
death  —  clung  until  he  felt  that  Martha  feebly  strove  to 
be  released. 

The  next  minute  they  stood  side  by  side,  and  Gilbert, 
by  a  revulsion  equally  swift  and  overpowering,  burst  into 
a  passion  of  tears. 

He  turned  and  leaned  his  head  against  Roger's  neclL 
Presently  a  light  touch  came  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Gilbert ! " 

He  faced  her  then,  and  saw  that  her  own  cheeks  were 
wet  "  Martha ! "  he  cried,  "  unless  you  love  me  with  a 
love  like  mine  for  you,  you  can  never  forgive  me ! " 


126  THE  STORT   OF  KENNETT. 

She  came  nearer ;  she  laid  her  arms  around  liira,  and 
lifted  her  face  to  his.  Then  she  said,  in  a  tender,  tremu* 
lous  whisper,  — 

«  Gilbert  —  Gilbert !     I  forgive  you." 

A  pang  of  wonderful,  incredulous  joy  shot  through  his 
heart.  Exalted  by  his  erootion  above  the  constraints  of 
his  past  and  present  life,  he  arose  and  stood  free  and  strong 
111  his  fuU  stature  as  a  man.  He  held  her  softly  and  ten- 
derly embraced,  and  a  purer  bliss  than  the  physical  delight 
of  her  warm,  caressing  presence  shone  upon  his  face  as  he 
asked, — 

"  Forever,  Martha?" 

«  Forever." 

"  Knowing  what  I  am  ?  " 

"  Because  I  know  what  you  are,  Gilbert  I " 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  her  shoulder,  and  she  felt  softer 
tears  —  tears  which  came  this  time  without  sound  or  pang 
—  upon  her  neck.  It  was  infinitely  touching  to  see  this 
strong  nature  so  moved,  and  the  best  bliss  that  a  true  wom- 
an's heart  can  feel  —  the  knowledge  of  the  boundless 
bounty  which  her  love  brings  with  it  —  opened  upon  her 
consciousness.  A  swift  instinct  revealed  to  her  the  painful 
struggles  of  Gilbert's  life,  —  the  stem,  reticent  strength 
they  had  developed,  —  the  anxiety  and  the  torture  of  his 
long-suppressed  passion,  and  the  power  and  purity  of  that 
devotion  with  which  his  heart  had  sought  and  claimed  her. 
She  now  saw  him  in  his  true  character,  —  firm  as  steel,  yet 
gentle  as  dew,  patient  and  passionate,  and  purposely  cold 
only  to  guard  the  sanctity  of  his  emotions. 

The  twilight  deepened  in  the  wood,  and  Roger,  stretch- 
ing and  shaking  himself,  called  the  lovers  to  themselves. 
Gilbert  lifted  his  head  and  looked  into  Martha's  sweet,  un- 
shrinking eyes. 

"  May  the  Lord  bless  you,  as  you  have  blessed  me  I "  hf 
said,  solemnly.    "  Martha,  did  you  guess  this  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  felt  that  it  must  be  so.** 


THE  STOBY  OF  KENNETT.  127 

"  And  you  did  not  draw  back  from  me  —  you  did  not 
riiun  the  thought  of  me !     You  were  "  — 

He  paused :  was  there  not  blessmg  enough,  or  must  he 
curiously  question  its  growth  ? 

Martha,  however,  understood  the  thought  in  his  mind. 
*•  No,  Gilbert !  "  she  said,  "  I  cannot  truly  say  that  I  loved 
juu  at  the  time  when  I  first  discovered  your  feeling  towards 
roe.  I  had  always  esteemed  and  trusted  you,  and  you  were 
much  in  my  mind ;  but  when  I  asked  myself  if  I  could 
look  upon  you  as  my  husband,  my  heart  hesitated  with  the 
answer.  I  did  not  deserve  your  affection  then,  because  I 
could  not  repay  it  in  the  same  measure.  But,  although  the 
knowledge  seemed  to  disturb  me,  sometimes,  yet  it  was  very 
grateful,  and  therefore  I  could  not  quite  make  up  my  mind 
to  discourage  you.  Indeed,  I  knew  not  what  was  right  to 
do,  but  I  found  myself  more  and  more  strongly  drawn  to- 
wards you ;  a  power  came  from  you  when  we  met,  that 
touched  and  yet  strengthened  me,  and  then  I  thought, 
'  Perhaps  I  do  love  him.'  To-day,  when  I  first  saw  your 
face,  I  knew  that  I  did.  I  felt  your  heart  calling  to  me 
like  one  that  cries  for  help,  and  mine  answered.  It  has 
been  slow  to  speak,  Gilbert,  but  I  know  it  has  spoken  truly 
at  last ! " 

He  replaced  the  broken  girth,  lifted  her  into  the  saddle, 
mounted  his  own  horse,  and  they  resumed  their  ride  along 
the  dusky  valley.  But  how  otherwise  their  companionship 
now  I 

"  Maltha,"  said  Gilbert,  leaning  towards  her  and  touch* 
lug  her  softly  as  he  spoke,  as  if  fearfid  that  some  power  in 
in  his  words  might  drive  them  apart,  —  "  Martha,  have  you 
considered  what  I  am  called  ?  That  the  family  name  I 
bear  is  in  itself  a  disgrace  ?  Have  you  imagined  what  it  is 
to  love  one  so  dishonored  as  I  am  ?  " 

The  delicate  line  of  her  upper  lip  grew  clear  and  firm 
again,  temporarily  losing  its  relaxed  gentleness.  "  I  have 
thought  of  it,"  she  answered,  "  but  not  in  that  way.     GUf 


128  TUE  STORY   OF  KENNEVT. 

belt,  I  honored  >ou  before  1  loved  you.  I  will  not  say  thai 
this  thing  makes  no  difference,  for  it  does —  a  differen:e  in 
the  name  men  give  you,  a  difference  in  your  work  through 
life  (for  you  must  deserve  more  esteem  to  gain  as  much  ai 
other  men)  —  and  a  difference  in  my  duty  towards  you 
They  call  me  'independent,'  Gilbert,  because,  though  8 
woman,  I  dare  to  think  for  myself;  I  know  not  whether 
they  mean  praise  by  the  word,  or  no  ;  but  I  think  it  would 
frighten  away  the  thought  of  love  from  many  men.  It  has 
not  frightened  you  ;  and  you,  however  you  were  born,  are 
the  faithfullest  and  best  man  I  know.  I  love  you  with  my 
whole  heart,  and  I  will  be  true  to  you ! " 

With  these  words,  Martha  stretched  out  her  hand.  Gil- 
bert took  and  held  it,  bowing  his  head  fondly  over  it,  and 
inwardly  thanking  God  that  the  test  which  his  pride  had 
exacted  was  over  at  last  He  could  reward  her  truth,  spare 
her  the  willing  sacrifice,  —  and  he  would. 

"  Martha,"  he  said,  "  if  I  sometimes  doubted  whether 
you  could  share  my  disgrace,  it  was  because  I  had  bitter 
Cause  to  feel  how  heavy  it  is  to  bear.  God  knows  I  would 
have  come  to  you  with  a  clean  and  honorable  name,  if  I 
could  have  been  patient  to  wait  longer  in  uncertainty. 
But  I  could  not  tell  how  long  the  time  might  be,  —  I  could 
not  urge  my  mother,  nor  even  ask  her  to  explain  "  — 

*'  No,  no,  Gilbert !     Spare  her  /  "  Martha  interrupted. 

**  I  have,  Martha,  —  God  bless  you  for  the  words  !  —  and 
I  will ;  it  would  be  the  worst  wickedness  not  to  be  patient, 
now !     But  I  have  not  yet  told  you  "  — 

A  loud  halloo  rang  through  the  dusk. 

"  It  is  Mark's  voice,"  said  Martha ;  "  answer  him  ! " 

Gilbert  shouted,  and  a  double  cry  instantly  replied. 
They  had  reached  the  cross-road  from  New-Garden,  and 
Mark  and  Sally,  who  had  been  waiting  impatiently  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  rode  to  meet  them.  "  Did  you  lose  the 
road  ?  "  "  Whatever  kept  you  so  long  ?  "  were  the  simul- 
taneous questions. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  129 

**  My  girth  broke  in  jumping  over  the  tree,"  Martha  an- 
Bwered,  in  her  clear,  untroubled  voice.  "  I  should  have 
been  thrown  off,  but  for  Gilbert's  help.  He  had  to  give 
me  his  own  girth,  and  so  we  have  ridden  slowly,  since  he 
has  none." 

"  Take  my  breast-strap,"  said  Mark. 

**  No,"  said  Gilbert,  "  I  can  ride  Roger  bareback,  if  need 
be,  with  the  saddle  on  my  shoulder." 

Something  in  his  voice  struck  Mark  and  Sally  singularly. 
It  was  grave  and  subdued,  yet  sweet  in  its  tones  as  never 
before ;  he  had  not  yet  descended  from  the  solemn  ex- 
altation of  his  recent  mood.  But  the  dusk  sheltered  his 
face,  and  its  new  brightness  was  visible  only  to  Martha's 
eyes. 

Mark  and  Sally  again  led  the  way,  and  the  lovers  fol- 
lowed in  silence  up  the  hill,  until  they  struck  the  Wilming- 
ton road,  below  Hallowell's.  Here  Gilbert  felt  that  it  was 
best  to  leave  them. 

"  Well,  you  two  are  cheerful  company  !  "  exclaimed  Sally, 
as  they  checked  their  horses.  "  Martha,  how  many  words 
has  Gilbert  spoken  to  you  this  evening  ?  " 

"  As  many  as  I  have  spoken  to  him,"  Martha  answered  ; 
"  but  I  will  say  three  more,  —  Good-night,  Gilbert ! " 

"  Good-night ! "  was  all  he  dared  say,  in  return,  but  the 
pressure  of  his  hand  burned  long  upon  her  fingers. 

He  rode  homewards  in  the  starlight,  transformed  by  love 
and  gratitude,  proud,  tender,  strong  to  encounter  any  fate. 
His  mother  sat  in  the  lonely  kitchen,  with  the  New  Testa- 
ment in  her  lap  ;  she  had  tried  to  read,  but  her  thoughts 
wandered  from  the  consoling  text  The  table  was  but 
half-cleared,  and  the  little  old  teapot  still  squatted  beside 
the  coals. 

Gilbert  strove  hard  to  assume  his  ordinary  manner,  but 
he  could  not  hide  the  radiant  happiness  that  shone  from  Ida 
eyes  and  sat  upon  his  lips. 

**  You  've  not  had  supper?  "  Mary  Potter  asked. 
• 


180  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

"  No,  mother  !  but  I  'm  sorry  you  kept  tilings  waiting;  1 
can  do  well  enough  without" 

"  It 's  not  right  to  go  without  your  regular  meals,  Gil- 
bert    Sit  up  to  the  table  ! " 

She  poured  out  the  tea,  and  Gilbert  ate  and  drank  in 
silence.  His  mother  said  nothing,  but  he  knew  that  her 
eye  was  upon  him,  and  that  he  was  the  subject  of  her 
thoughts.  Once  or  twice  he  detected  a  wistful,  questioning 
expression,  which,  in  his  softened  mood,  touched  him  al- 
most like  a  reproach. 

When  the  table  had  been  cleared  and  everything  put 
away,  she  resumed  her  seat,  breathing  an  unconscious 
sigh  as  she  dropped  her  hands  into  her  lap.  Gilbert  felt 
that  he  must  now  speak,  and  only  hesitated  while  he  con- 
sidered how  he  could  best  do  so,  without  touching  hei 
secret  and  mysterious  trouble. 

"  Mother ! "  he  said  at  last  "  I  have  something  to  teifl 
you." 

«Ay,  Gilbert?" 

"  Maybe  it  '11  seem  good  news  to  you ;  but  maybe  not. 
I  have  asked  IVIartha  Deane  to  be  my  wife ! " 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  her.  She  clasped  her  hands, 
leaned  forward,  and  fixed  her  dark,  mournful  eyes  intently 
upon  his  face. 

"I  have  been  drawn  towards  her  for  a  long  time," 
Gilbert  continued.  "  It  has  been  a  great  trouble  to 
me,  because  she  is  so.  pretty,  and  withal  so  proud  in 
the  way  a  girl  should  be, —  I  liked  her  pride,  even  while 
it  made  me  afraid,  —  and  they  say  she  is  rich  also.  It 
might  seem  like  looking  too  high,  mother,  but  I  couldn't 
help  it." 

"  There  's  no  woman  too  high  for  you,  Gilbert !  "  Mary 
Potter  exclaimed.  Then  she  went  on,  in  a  hurried,  un- 
steady voice  :  "  It  is  n't  that  —  I  mistrusted  it  would  come 
80,  some  day,  but  I  hoped  —  only  for  your  good,  my  boy, 
only  for  that  —  I  hoped  not  so  soon.     You  're  still  youii| 


THE  STORV   OF  KENNETT.  IS) 

—  not  twenty-five,  and  there  's  debt  on  the  farm;  — 
could  n't  you  ha'  waited  a  little,  Gilbert?" 

"  I  have  waited,  mother,"  he  said,  slightly  turning  away 
his  head,  that  he  might  not  see  the  tender  reproach  in  her 
face,  which  her  question  seemed  to  imply.  "  I  did  wait  — 
and  for  that  reason.  I  wanted  first  to  be  independent,  it 
least ;  and  I  doubt  that  I  would  have  spoken  so  soon,  but 
there  were  others  after  Martha,  and  that  put  the  thought 
of  losing  her  into  my  head.  It  seemed  like  a  matter  of 
life  or  death.  Alfred  Barton  tried  to  keep  company  with 
her  —  he  did  n't  deny  it  to  my  face  ;  the  people  talked  of 
it.  Folks  always  say  more  than  they  know,  to  be  sure,  bu' 
then,  the  chances  were  so  much  against  me,  mother !  I 
was  nigh  crazy,  sometimes.  I  tried  my  best  and  bravest  to 
be  patient,  but  to-day  we  were  riding  alone,  —  Mark  am. 
Sally  gone  ahead,  —  and  —  and  then  it  came  from  my 
mouth,  I  don't  know  how  ;  I  did  n't  expect  it  But  1 
Bhould  n't  have  doubted  Martha ;  she  let  me  speak ;  she 
answered  me  —  I  can't  tell  you  her  words,  mother,  though 
I  '11  never  forget  one  single  one  of  'em  to  my  dying  day 
She  gave  me  her  hand  and  said  she  would  be  true  to  me 
forever." 

Gilbert  waited,  as  if  his  mother  might  here  speak,  bu 
she  remained  silent 

"  Do  you  understand,  mother  ?  "  he  continued.  **  She 
pledged  herself  to  me  —  she  will  be  my  wife.  And  I 
asked  her  —  you  won't  be  hurt,  for  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty 

—  whether  she  knew  how  disgraced  I  was  in  the  eyes  oi 
the  people,  —  whether  my  name  would  not  be  a  shame  foi 
her  to  bear  ?  She  could  n't  know  what  we  know :  she  took 
me  even  with  the  shame,  —  and  she  looked  prouder  than 
ever  when  she  stood  by  me  in  the  thought  of  it !  She 
would  despise  me,  now,  if  I  should  offer  to  give  her  up  on 
account  of  it,  but  she  may  know  as  much  as  I  do,  mother  ? 
She  deserves  it" 

There  was  no  answer.     Gilbert  looked  up 


132  TTIF,  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

Mary  Potter  sat  perfectly  still  in  her  high  rocking-chair. 
Her  arms  hung  passively  at  her  sides,  and  her  head  leaned 
back  and  was  turned  to  one  side,  as  if  she  were  utterly  ex- 
hausted. But  in  the  pale  face,  the  closed  eyes,  and  the 
blue  shade  about  the  parted  lips,  he  saw  that  she  waa  un- 
ccHiacious  of  his  words.     She  had  fainted. 


THF.  STORY  OF   K£Nll£TT.  IS  9 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

TWO    OLD    MEN. 

Shortly  after  Martha  Deane  left  home  for  her  evenlAil 
tidii  to  Falconer's,  the  Doctor  also  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  out  of  the  village  in  the  opposite  direction.  Two 
days  before,  he  had  been  summoned  to  bleed  "  Old-man 
Barton,"  on  accoimt  of  a  troublesome  buzzing  in  the  head, 
and,  although  not  bidden  to  make  a  second  professional 
visit,  there  was  sufficient  occasion  for  him  to  call  upon  his 
patient  in  the  capacity  of  a  neighbor. 

Dr.  Deane  never  made  a  step  outside  the  usual  routine 
of  his  business  without  a  special  and  carefully  considered 
reason.  Various  causes  combined  to  inspire  his  move- 
ment in  the  present  instance.  The  neighborhood  was 
healthy  ;  the  village  was  so  nearly  deserted  that  no  curious 
observers  lounged  upon  the  tavern-porch,  or  sat  upon  the 
horse-block  at  the  corner-store;  and  Mr.  Alfred  Barton 
had  been  seen  riding  towards  Avondale.  There  would 
have  been  safety  in  a  much  more  unusual  proceeding ;  this, 
therefore,  might  be  imdertaken  in  that  secure,  easy  frame 
of  mind  which  the  Doctor  both  cultivated  and  recom- 
mended to  the  little  world  around  him. 

The  Barton  farm-house  was  not  often  molested  by  the 
presence  of  guests,  and  he  found  it  as  quiet  and  lifeless  as 
an  \rainhabited  island  of  the  sea.  Leaving  his  horse 
hitched  in  the  shade  of  the  corn-crib,  he  first  came  upon 
Giles,  stretched  out  under  the  holly-bush,  and  fast  asleep, 
with  his  head  upon  his  jacket.  The  door  and  window  of 
the  fiwnily-room  were  open,  and  Dr.  Dfane,  walking'  sofUj 


184  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

upon  tlie  thick  grass,  saw  that  Old-man  Barton  was  in  hif 
accustomed  seat  His  daughter  Ann  was  not  visible ;.  she 
^as  at  that  moment  occupied  in  taking  out  of  the  drawers 
of  her  queer  old  bureau,  in  her  narrow  bedroom  up-stairs, 
various  bits  of  lace  and  ribbon,  done  up  in  lavender,  and 
perchance  (for  we  must  not  be  too  curious)  a  broken  six- 
pence or  a  lock  of  dead  hair. 

The  old  man's  back  was  towards  the  window,  but  the 
Doctor  could  hear  that  papers  were  rustling  and  crackling 
in  his  trembling  hands,  and  could  see  that  an  old  casket  of 
very  solid  oak,  bound  with  iron,  stood  on  the  table  at  his 
elbow.  Thereupon  he  stealthily  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
gate,  shut  it  with  a  sharp  snap,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
mounted  the  porch  with  slow,  loud,  deliberate  steps. 
Wlien  he  reached  the  open  door,  he  knocked  upon  the 
jamb  without  looking  into  the  room.  There  was  a  jerk- 
ing, dragging  sound  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  old  man's 
snarl  was  heard : 

«  Who 's  there  ?  " 

Dr.  Deane  entered,  smiling,  and  redolent  of  sweet-mar- 
joram. "  Well, ,  Friend  Barton,"  he  said,  "  let 's  have  a 
look  at  thee  now ! " 

Thereupon  he  took  a  chair,  placed  it  in  front  of  the  old 
man,  and  sat  down  upon  it,  with  his  legs  spread  wide  apart, 
and  his  ivory- headed  cane  (which  he  also  used  as  a  riding- 
whip)  bolt  upright  between  them.  He  was  very  careful 
not  to  seem  to  see  that  a  short  quilt,  which  the  old  man 
usually  wore  over  his  knees,  now  lay  in  a  somewhat  angu- 
lar heap  upon  the  table. 

"  Better,  I  should  say,  —  yes,  decidedly  better,"  he  re- 
marked, nodding  his  head  gravely.  "  I  had  nothing  to  do 
this  afternoon,  —  the  neighborhood  is  very  healthy,  —  and 
thought  I  would  ride  down  and  see  how  thee  's  getting  on. 
Only  a  friendly  visit,  thee  knows." 

The  old  man  had  laid  one  shaking  arm  and  crooked 
band  npon  the  edge  of  the  quilt,  while  with  the  other  ht 


THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT.  ISt 

grasped  his  hickory  staff.  His  face  had  a  strange,  ashj 
color,  through  which  the  dark,  corded  veins  on  his  temples 
showed  with  singular  distinctness.  But  his  eye  was  unusu- 
ally bright  and  keen,  and  its  cunning,  suspicious  expression 
did  not  escape  the  Doctor's  notice. 

"  A  friendly  visit  —  ay  !  "  he  growled  —  "  not  like  Doc- 
tors' visits  generally,  eh  ?  Better  ?  —  of  course  I  'm  bet 
ter.  It 's  no  harm  to  tap  one  of  a  full-blooded  breed.  At 
our  age,  Doctor,  a  little  blood  goes  a  great  way." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt !  "  the  Doctor  assented.  "  Espe- 
cially in  thy  case.  I  often  speak  of  thy  wonderful  constitu- 
tion." 

"  Neighborly,  you  say,  Doctor  —  only  neighborly  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man.  The  Doctor  smiled,  nodded,  and  seemed  to 
exhale  a  more  powerful  herbaceous  odor. 

"  Mayhap,  then,  you  '11  take  a  bit  of  a  dram  ?  —  a  thim- 
ble-full won't  come  amiss.  You  know  the  shelf  where  it 's 
kep'  —  reach  to,  and  help  yourself,  and  then  help  me  to  a 
drop." 

Dr.  Deane  rose  and  took  down  the  square  black  bottle 
and  the  diminutive  wine-glass  beside  it  Half-filling  the 
latter,  —  a  thimble-full  in  verity,  —  he  drank  it  in  two  or 
three  delicate  little  sips,  puckering  his  large  under-lip  to 
receive  them. 

"  It 's  right  to  have  the  best,  Friend  Barton,"  he  said, 
*«  there  's  more  life  in  it ! "  as  he  filled  the  glass  to  the 
brim  and  held  it  to  ♦he  slit  in  the  old  man's  face. 

The  latter  eagerly  drew  off  the  top  fulness,  and  then 
seized  the  glass  in  his  shaky  hand.  "  Can  help  myself,"  he 
croaked  —  "  don't  need  waitin'  on  ;  not  so  bad  as  that !  " 

His  color  presently  grew,  and  his  neck  assumed  a  partial 
steadiness.  "  What  news,  what  news  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You 
gather  up  a  plenty  in  your  goin's-around.  It 's  little  I  get, 
except  the  bones,  after  they  've  been  gnawed  over  by  the 
whole  neighborhood." 

**  There  is  not  much  now,  1  believe,"  Dr.  Deane  observed 


136  THE  STORT  OP  KENNETT. 

"  Jacob  and  Leah  Gilpin  have  another  boy,  but  thee  hardly 
knows  them,  I  think.  William  Byerly  died  last  week  in 
Birmingham  ;  thee  's  heard  of  him,  —  he  had  a  wonderful 
gift  of  preaching.  They  say  Maryland  cattle  will  be  cheap, 
this  fall :  does  Alfred  intend  to  fatten  many  ?  I  saw  him 
riding  towards  New-Garden." 

"  I  guess  he  will,"  the  old  man  answered,  —  "  must  make 
somethin'  out  o'  the  farm.  That  pastur'-bottom  ought  to 
bring  more  than  it  does." 

"  Alfred  does  n't  look  to  want  for  much,"  the  Doctor  con- 
tinued.    "  It 's  a  fine  farm  he  has." 

^^Me,  I  say  ! "  old  Barton  exclaimed,  bringing  down  the 
end  of  his  stick  upon  the  floor.     "  The  farm  's  mine  ! " 

"  But  it 's  the  same  thing,  is  n't  it  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Deane, 
in  bis  cheeriest  voice  and  with  his  pleasantest  smile. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  gave  an  inco- 
herent grunt,  the  meaning  of  which  the  Doctor  found  it 
impossible  to  decipher,  and  presently,  with  a  cunning  leer, 
said,  — 

"Is  all  your  property  the  same  thing  as  your  daugh- 
ter's?" 

"  Well  —  well,"  replied  the  Doctor,  softly  rubbing  his 
hands,  "  I  should  hope  so — yes,  I  should  hope  so." 

"  Besides  what  she  has  in  her  own  right  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thee  knows  that  will  be  hers  without  my  disposal. 
What  I  should  do  for  her  would  be  apart  from  that  I  am 
not  likely,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  marry  again  —  but  we  are 
led  by  the  Spirit,  thee  knows ;  we  cannot  say,  I  will  do 
thus  and  so,  and  these  and  such  things  shall  happen,  and 
those  and  such  other  shall  not" 

"  Ay,  that 's  my  rule,  too,  Doctor,"  said  the  old  man,  after 
a  pause,  during  which  he  had  intently  watched  his  visitor, 
from  under  his  wrinkled  eyelids. 

"  I  thought/'  the  Doctor  resumed,  "  thee  was  pretty  safe 
«gainst  another  marriage,  at  any  rate,  and  thee  had  per< 
baps  made  up  thy  mind  about  providing  for  thy  children. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  187 

It  *8  better  for  us  old  men  to  have  our  houses  set  iu  order 
diat  we  may  spare  ourselves  worry  and  anxiety  of  mind 
Elisha  is  already  established  in  his  own  independence,  and 
I  suppose  Ann  will  give  thee  no  particular  trouble  ;  but  if 
Alfred,  now,  should  take  a  notion  to  marry,  he  could  n't, 
thee  sees,  be  expected  to  commit  himself  without  having 
some  idea  of  what  thee  intends  to  do  for  him." 

Dr.  Deane,  having  at  last  taken  up  his  position  and  un- 
covered his  front  of  attack,  waited  for  the  next  movement 
of  his  adversary.  He  was  even  aware  of  a  slight  profes- 
sional curiosity  to  know  how  far  the  old  man's  keen, 
shrewd,  wary  faculties  had  survived  the  wreck  of  his  body. 

The  latter  nodded  his  head,  and  pressed  the  top  of  his 
hickory  stick  against  his  gums  several  times,  before  he  an- 
swered. He  enjoyed  the  encounter,  though  not  so  sure  of 
its  issue  as  he  would  have  been  ten  years  earlier. 

"  I  'd  do  the  fair  thing,  Doctor  !  "  he  finally  exclaimed ; 
"whatever  it  might  be,  it  'd  be  fair.  Come,  is  n't  that 
enough  ?  " 

"  In  a  general  sense,  it  is.  But  we  are  talking  now  as 
neighbors.  We  are  both  old  men,  Friend  Barton,  and  I 
think  we  know  how  to  keep  our  own  counsel.  Let  us  sup- 
pose a  case — just  to  illustrate  the  matter,  thee  under- 
stands. Let  us  say  that  Friend  Paxson  —  a  widower,  thee 
knows  —  had  a  daughter  Mary,  who  had  —  well,  a  nice 
little  penny  in  her  own  right,  —  and  that  thy  son  Alfred 
desired  her  in  marriage.  Friend  Paxson,  as  a  prudent 
father,  knowing  his  daughter's  portion,  both  what  it  is  and 
what  it  will  be,  —  he  would  naturally  wish,  in  Mary's  inter- 
est, to  know  that  Alfred  would  not  be  dependent  on  her 
means,  but  that  the  children  they  might  have  would  inherit 
equally  from  both.  Now,  it  strikes  me  that  Friend  Paxson 
would  only  be  right  in  asking  thee  what  thee  wou.d  do  for 
thy  son  —  nay,  that,  to  be  safe,  he  would  want  to  see  some 
evidence  that  would  hold  in  law.  Things  are  so  uncertain, 
and  a  wise  man  guardeth  his  own  household" 


188  tHfi  StOtiS"  of  KENNETt 

The  old  man  laughed  until  his  watery  eyes  twinkled 
"  Friend  Paxson  is  a  mighty  close  and  cautious  one  to  deal 
with,"  he  said.  "'  Mayhap  he  'd  like  to  manage  to  have  ne 
bound,  and  himself  go  free  ?  " 

"  Thee  's  mistaken,  indeed ! "  Dr.  Deane  protested.  "  He 's 
not  that  kind  of  a  man.  He  only  means  to  do  what 's  right, 
and  to  ask  the  same  security  from  thee,  which  thee  —  I  'm 
sure  of  it,  Friend  Barton !  —  would  expect  him  to  fur- 
nish." 

The  old  man  began  to  find  this  illustration  uncomfort- 
able ;  it  was  altogether  one  -  sided.  Dr.  Deane  could 
shelter  himself  behind  Friend  Paxson  and  the  imaginary 
daughter,  but  the  applications  came  personally  home  to 
him.  His  old  patience  had  been  weakened  by  his  isola- 
tion from  the  world,  and  his  habits  of  arbitrary  rule.  He 
knew,  moreover,  the  probable  amount  of  Martlia's  fortune, 
and  could  make  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  Doctor's  circum- 
stances ;  but  if  the  settlements  were  to  be  equal,  each  must 
give  his  share  its  highest  valuation  in  order  to  secure  more 
from  the  other.  It  was  a  difficult  game,  because  these 
men  viewed  it  in  the  light  of  a  business  transaction,  and 
each  considered  that  any  advantage  over  the  other  would 
be  equivalent  to  a  pecuniary  gain  on  his  own  part. 

"  No  use  beatin'  about  the  bush,  Doctor,"  the  old  man 
suddenly  said.  "  You  don't  care  for  Paxson's  daughter, 
that  never  was ;  why  not  put  your  Martha  in  her  place. 
She  has  a  good  penny,  I  hear  —  five  thousand,  some 
say." 

"  Ten,  every  cent  of  it ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Deane,  very 
nearly  thrown  off  his  guard.  "  That  is,  she  will  have  it, 
at  twenty- five  ;  and  sooner,  if  she  marries  with  my  consent 
But  why  does  thee  wish  particularly  to  speak  of  her  ?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason  you  talk  about  Alfred.  He 
has  n't  been  about  your  house  lately,  I  s'pose,  hey  ?  " 

The  Doctor  smiled,  dropping  his  eyelids  in  a  very  saga- 
dous  way.    "He  does  seem  dr-awn  a  ittle  our  way,  I  mus^ 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  139 

confess  to  thee,"  he  said,  "but  we  can't  always  tell  how 
much  is  meant  Perhaps  thee  knows  his  mind  better 
than  I  do?" 

"  l^Iayhap  I  do  —  know  what  it  will  be,  if  /  choose 
But  I  don't  begrudge  sayin'  that  he  likes  your  girl,  and  1 
should  n't  wonder  if  he  'd  showed  it" 

"  Then  thee  sees,  Friend  Barton,"  Dr.  Deane  continued, 
"  that  the  case  is  precisely  like  the  one  I  supposed ;  and 
what  I  would  consider  right  for  Friend  Paxson,  would 
even  be  right  for  myself  I  've  no  doubt  thee  could  do 
more  for  Alfred  than  I  can  do  for  Martha,  and  without 
wrong  to  thy  other  children,  —  Elisha,  as  I  said,  being 
independent,  and  Ann  not  requiring  a  great  deal,  —  and 
the  two  properties  joined  together  would  be  a  credit  to 
us,  and  to  the  neighborhood.  Only,  thee  knows,  there 
must  be  some  legal  assurance  beforehand.  There  is  noth- 
ing certain,  —  even  thy  mind  is  liable  to  change,  —  ah, 
the  mind  of  man  is  an  unstable  thing  !  " 

The  Doctor  delivered  these  words  in  his  most  impres- 
sive manner,  uplifting  both  eyes  and  hands. 

The  old  man,  however,  seemed  to  pay  but  little  atten- 
tion to  it  Turning  his  head  on  one  side,  he  said,  in  a 
quick,  sharp  voice :  "  Time  enough  for  that  when  we  come 
to  it  How  's  the  girl  inclined  ?  Is  the  money  hers,  any- 
how, at  twenty-five,  —  how  old  now  ?  Sure  to  be  a  couple, 
hey  ?  —  settle  that  first ! " 

Dr.  Deane  crossed  his  legs  carefully,  so  as  not  to  crease 
the  cloth  too  much,  laid  his  cane  upon  them,  and  leaned 
back  a  little  in  his  chair.  "  Of  course  I  've  not  spoken  to 
Martha,"  he  presently  said ;  "  I  can  only  say  that  she 
has  n't  set  her  mind  upon  anybody  else,  and  that  is  the 
main  thing.  She  has  followed  my  will  in  all,  except  as  to 
joining  the  Friends,  and  there  I  felt  that  I  could  n't  rightly 
command,  where  the  Spirit  had  not  spoken.  Yes,  the 
money  will  be  hers  at  twenty-five,  —  she  is  twenty-one 
WWt  •—  but  I  hardly  think  it  necessary  to  take  that  into 


140  THE  STORT   OF  KENNETT. 

consideration.  If  thee  can  answer  for  Alfred,  I  think  1 
can  answer  for  her." 

"  The  boy  's  close  about  his  money,"  broke  in  the  old 
man,  with  a  sly,  husky  chuckle.  "  What  he  has,  Doctorj 
you  understand,  goes  toward  balancin'  what  she  has,  afore 
you  come  onto  me,  at  all.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  what  I  *m 
about.  A  good  deal,  off  and  on,  has  been  got  out  o'  this 
farm,  and  it  has  n't  all  gone  into  my  pockets.  I  've  a  trifle 
put  out,  but  you  can't  expect  me  to  strip  myself  naked,  in 
my  old  days.  But  I  '11  do  what 's  fair  —  I  '11  do  what  *s 
fair!" 

"  There 's  only  this,"  the  Doctor  added,  meditatively, 
"  and  I  want  thee  to  understand,  since  we  've,  somehow 
or  other,  come  to  mention  the  matter,  that  we  'd  better 
have  another  talk,  after  we  've  had  more  time  to  think  of 
it.  Thee  can  make  up  thy  mind,  and  let  me  know  about 
what  thee  '11  do ;  and  I  the  same.  Thee  has  a  starting- 
point  on  my  side,  knowing  the  amount  of  Martha's  fortune 
—  that,  of  course,  thee  must  come  up  to  first,  and  then 
we  '11  see  about  the  rest !  " 

Old-man  Barton  felt  that  he  was  here  brought  up  to  the 
rack.  He  recognized  Dr.  Deane's  advantage,  and  could 
only  evade  it  by  accepting  his  proposition  for  delay.  True, 
he  had  already  gone  over  the  subject,  in  his  lonely,  restless 
broodings  beside  the  window,  but  this  encounter  had  fresh- 
ened and  resuscitated  many  points.  He  knew  that  the 
business  would  be  finally  arranged,  but  nothing  would 
have  induced  him  to  hasten  it.  There  was  a  great  luxury 
in  this  preliminary  skirmishing. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  he,  "  we  need  n't  hurry.  You  're 
right  there.  Doctor.  I  s'pose  you  won't  do  anything  to 
keep  the  young  ones  apart  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  've  shown  my  o^vn  wishes  very  plainly,  Friend 
Barton.  It  is  necessary  that  Alfred  should  speak  for  him* 
self^  though,  and  after  all  we  've  said,  perhaps  it  might  be 
well  if  thee  should  give  him  a  hint.      Thee  must  re< 


THE  STCRY   OF   K.ENNETT.  141 

member  that  he  has  never  yet  mentioned  the  subject  to 
me." 

Dr.  Deane  thereupon  arose,  smoothed  his  garments,  and 
shook  out.  not  only  sweet  marjoram,  but  lavender,  cloves, 
and  calanuis.  Plis  broad-brimmed  drab  hat  had  never 
left  his  head  during  the  interview.  There  were  steps  on 
the  creaking  floor  overhead,  and  the  Doctor  perceived  that 
the  private  conference  must  now  close.  It  was  nearly  a 
drawn  game,  so  far ;  but  the  chance  of  advantage  was  on 
his  side. 

"  Suppose  I  look  at  thy  arm,  —  in  a  neighborly  way,  of 
course,"  he  said,  approaching  the  old  man's  chair. 

"Never  mind  —  took  the  bean  off  this  mornin'  —  old 
blood,  you  know,  but  lively  yet  Gad,  Doctor !  I  've  not 
felt  so  brisk  for  a  year."  His  eyes  twinkled  so,  under 
their  puffy  lids,  the  flabby  folds  in  which  his  mouth  ter- 
minated worked  so  curiously,  —  like  those  of  a  bellows, 
where  they  run  together  towards  the  nozzle,  —  and  the 
two  movable  fingers  on  each  hand  opened  and  shut  with 
such  a  menacing,  clutching  motion,  that  for  one  moment 
the  Doctor  felt  a  chill,  uncanny  creep  run  over  his 
nerves. 

"  Brandy  !  "  the  old  man  commanded.  "  I  've  not  talked 
so  much  at  once't  for  months.  You  might  take  a  little 
more,  maybe.  No  ?  well,  you  hardly  need  it  Good 
brandy 's  powerful  dear,  these  times." 

Dr.  Deane  had  too  much  tact  to  accept  the  grudging 
invitation.  After  the  old  man  had  drunk,  he  carefully 
replaced  the  bottle  and  glass  on  their  accustomed  shelf, 
and  disposed  himself  to  leave.  On  the  whole,  he  was  well 
iatisfied  with  the  afternoon's  work,  not  doubting  but  that 
he  had  acted  the  part  of  a  tender  and  most  considerate 
parent  towards  his  daughter. 

Before  they  met,  she  also  had  disposed  of  her  future^ 
but  in  a  very  different  way. 

Miss  Ann  descended  the  stairs  in  time  to  greet  the  Do^ 


142  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

tor  before  Ins  departure.  She  would  have  gladly  retained 
him  to  tea,  as  a  little  relief  to  the  loneliness  and  weariness 
of  the  day  ;  but  she  never  dared  to  give  an  invitation  ex- 
cept when  it  seconded  her  father's,  which,  in  the  present 
case,  was  wanting. 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  141 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DOUBTS    AND    SURMISES. 

Gilbeut's  voice,  sharpened  by  his  sudden  and  mortal 
fear,  recalled  Mary  Potter  to  consciousness.  After  she 
had  drunk  of  the  cup  of  water  which  he  brought,  she  looked 
slowly  and  wearily  around  the  kitchen,  as  if  some  instinct 
taught  her  to  fix  her  thoughts  on  the  signs  and  appliances 
of  her  every-duy  life,  rather  than  allow  them  to  return  tc 
the  pang  which  had  overpowered  her.  Little  by  little  she 
recovered  her  calmness  and  a, portion  of  her  strength,  and 
at  last,  noticing  her  son's  anxious  face,  she  spoke. 

"  1  have  frightened  you,  Gilbert ;  but  there  is  no  occa- 
sion for  it.  I  was  n't  rightly  prepared  for  what  you  had 
to  say  —  and  —  and  —  but,  please,  don't  let  us  talk  any 
more  about  it  to-night  Give  me  a  little  time  to  think  — 
if  1  can  think.  I  'm  afraid  it 's  but  a  sad  home  I  'm  making 
for  you,  and  sure  it 's  a  sad  load  I  've  put  upon  you,  my 
poor  boy  !  But  oh,  try,  Gilbeit,  try  to  be  patient  a  little 
while  longer,  —  it  can't  be  for  long,  —  for  I  begin  to  see 
now  that  I  'vc  worked  out  my  fault,  and  that  the  Lord  in 
Ilcaven  owes  me  justice  !  " 

She  clenched  her  hands  wildly,  and  rose  to  her  feet 
Iler  steps  tottered,  and  he  sprang  to  her  suppoi-t 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  let  me  help  you  to  your  room.  I  '11 
not  speak  of  this  again  ;  I  would  n't  have  spoken  to-night, 
if  I  had  mistrusted  that  it  could  give  you  trouble.  Have 
no  fear  that  I  can  ever  be  impatient  again ;  patience  ia 
easy  to  me  now ! " 

He  spoke  kindly  and  cheerfully,  registering  a  vow  in  hif 


t44  THE  STORt  OF  KENNETT. 

heart  that  his  lips  should  henceforth  be  closed  upon  th« 
painful  theme,  until  his  mother's  release  (whatever  it  was 
and  whenever  it  might  come)  should  open  them. 

But  competent  as  he  felt  in  that  moment  to  bear  the 
delay  cheerfully,  and  deteniiined  as  he  was  to  cast  no  addi- 
tional weight  on  his  mother's  heart,  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
compose  his  thoughts,  as  he  lay  in  the  dusky,  starlit  bed 
room  up-stairs.  The  events  of  the  day,  and  their  recent  con- 
sequences, had  moved  his  strong  nature  to  its  very  foun- 
dations. A  chaos  of  joy,  wonder,  doubt,  and  dread  surged 
through  him.  Over  and  over  he  recalled  the  sweet  pres- 
sure of  Martha  Deane's  lip,  the  warm  curve  of  her  bosom, 
the  dainty,  delicate  firnmess  of  her  hand.  Was  this  — 
could  this  possession  really  be  his  ?  In  his  mother's  mys- 
terious secret  there  lay  an  element  of  terror.  He  could 
not  guess  why  the  revelation  of  his  fortunate  love  should 
agitate  her  so  fearfully,  unless  —  and  the  suspicion  gave 
him  a  shock  —  her  history  were  in  some  way  involved  with 
that  of  Martha  Deane. 

This  thought  haunted  and  perplexed  him,  continually 
returning  to  disturb  the  memory  of  those  holy  moments  in 
the  twilight  dell,  and  to  ruffle  the  bright  current  of  joy 
which  seemed  to  gather  up  and  sweep  away  with  it  all  the 
forces  of  his  life.  Any  fate  but  to  lose  her,  he  said  to 
himself;  let  the  shadow  fall  anywhere,  except  between 
them !  There  would  be  other  troubles,  he  foresaw,  —  the 
opposition  of  her  father ;  the  rage  and  hostility  of  Alfred 
Barton ;  possibly,  when  the  story  became  known  (as  it 
must  be  in  the  end),  the  ill-will  or  aversion  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. Against  all  these  definite  and  positive  evils,  he 
felt  strong  and  tolerably  courageous,  but  the  Something 
which  e\idently  menaced  him  through  his  mother  made 
him  shrink  with  a  sense  of  cowardice. 

Hand  in  hand  with  this  dread  he  went  into  the  world  of 
sleep.  He  stood  upon  the  summit  of  the  hill  behind  Fal- 
coner's farm-house,  and  saw  Martha  beckoning  to  him  from 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  145 

Uic  hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley.  They  stretched 
and  clasped  hands  through  the  intervening  space ;  the  hills 
sank  away,  and  they  found  themselves  suddenly  below,  on 
the  banks  of  the  creek.  He  threw  his  arms  around  her, 
but  she  drew  back,  and  then  he  saw  that  it  was  Betsy  Lav- 
ender, who  said :  "I  am  your  father  —  did  you  never 
guess  it  before  ?  "  Down  the  road  came  Dr.  Deane  and 
his  mother,  walking  arm  in  arm  ;  their  eyes  were  fixed  on 
him,  but  they  did  not  speak.  Then  he  heard  Martha's 
voice,  saying :  "  Gilbert,  why  did  you  tell  Alfred  Barton  ? 
Nobody  must  know  that  I  am  engaged  to  both  of  you." 
Betsy  Lavender  said  :  "  He  can  only  marry  with  my  con- 
sent—  Mary  Potter  has  nothing  to  do  with  it"  Martha 
then  came  towards  him  smiling,  and  said  :  "  I  will  not  send 
back  your  saddle-girth  —  see,  I  am  wearing  it  as  a  belt ! " 
He  took  hold  of  the  buckle  and  drew  her  nearer;  she 
began  to  weep,  and  they  were  suddenly  standing  side  by 
side,  in  a  dark  room,  before  his  dead  mother,  in  her  coffin. 

This  dream,  absurd  and  incoherent  as  it  was,  made  a 
strange  impression  upon  Gilbert's  mind.  He  was  not  su- 
perstitious, but  in  spite  of  himself  the  idea  became  rooted 
in  his  thoughts  that  the  truth  of  his  own  parentage  affected, 
in  some  way,  some  member  of  the  Deane  family.  He 
taxed  his  memory  in  vain  for  words  or  incidents  which 
might  help  him  to  solve  this  doubt  Something  told  him 
that  his  obligation  to  his  mother  involved  the  understand- 
ing that  he  would  not  even  attempt  to  discover  her  secret; 
but  he  could  not  prevent  his  thoughts  from  wandering 
around  it,  and  making  blind  guesses  as  to  the  vxdnerable 
point 

Among  these  guesses  came  one  which  caused  him  to 
shudder ;  he  called  it  impossible,  incredible,  and  resolutely 
barred  it  from  his  mind.  But  with  all  his  resolution,  it 
only  seemed  to  wait  at  a  little  distance,  as  if  constantly 
seeking  an  opportunity  to  return.  What  if  Dr.  Deane 
irere  his  own  father  ?  In  that  case  Martha  would  be  his 
10 


146  THE  STORY  OF  KENNErT. 

half-sister,  and  the  stain  of  illegitimacy  would  rest  on  her, 
not  on  him !  There  was  ruin  and  despair  in  the  suppo- 
sition; out,  on  the  other  hand,  he  asked  himself  why  should 
the  fact  of  his  love  throw  his  mother  into  a  swoon  "^  Among 
tlie  healthy,  strong-nerved  people  of  Kennett  such  a  thing 
as  a  swoon  was  of  the  rarest  occurrence,  and  it  suggested 
some  terrible  cause  to  Gilbert's  mind.  It  was  sometimef 
hard  for  him  to  preserve  his  predetermined  patient,  cheer  • 
ful  demeanor  in  his  mother's  presence,  but  he  tried  bravely, 
and  succeeded. 

Although  the  harvest  was  well  over,  there  was  still  much 
work  to  do  on  the  farm,  in  order  that  the  month  of  October 
might  be  appropriated  to  hauling,  —  the  last  time,  Gilbert 
hoped,  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  resort  to  this  source 
of  profit.  Though  the  price  of  grain  was  sure  to  decline, 
on  account  of  the  extraordinary  harvest,  the  quantity  would 
make  up  for  this  deficiency.  So  far,  his  estimates  had 
been  verified.  A  good  portion  of  the  money  was  already 
on  hand,  and  his  coveted  freedom  from  debt  in  the  follow- 
ing spring  became  now  tolerably  secure.  His  course,  in 
tliis  respect,  was  in  strict  accordance  with  the  cautious, 
plodding,  conscientious  habits  of  the  community  in  which 
he  lived.  They  were  satisfied  to  advance  steadily  and 
slowly,  never  establishing  a  new  mark  until  the  old  one 
had  been  reached. 

Gilbert  was  impatient  to  see  Martha  again,  not  so  much 
for  the  delight  of  love,  as  from  a  sense  of  the  duty  which 
he  owed  to  her.  His  mother  had  not  answered  his  ques- 
tion,—  possibly  not  even  heai-d  it,  —  and  he  did  not  dare 
to  approach  her  with  it  again.  But  so  much  as  he  knei* 
might  be  revealed  to  the  wife  of  his  heart ;  of  that  he  was 
sure.  If  she  could  but  share  his  confidence  in  his  motlier's 
words,  and  be  equally  patient  to  await  the  solution,  it  would 
give  their  relation  a  new  sweetness,  an  added  sanctity  and 
trust 

He  made  an  errand  to  Fairthom's  at  the  close  of  tht 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  147 

ireek,  hoping  that  chance  might  befriend  him,  b^t  almost 
detcnnincd,  in  any  case,  to  force  an  interview.  The  dread 
he  had  trampled  down  still  hung  around  him,  and  it  seemed 
that  Martha's  presence  might  dissipate  it  Something,  at 
least,  he  might  learn  concerning  Dr.  Deane's  family,  and 
here  his  thoughts  at  once  reverted  to  Miss  Betsy  Laven- 
der. In  her  he  had  the  tnie  friend,  the  close  mouth,  the 
brain  crammed  with  family  intelligence  ! 

The  Fairthorns  were  glad  to  see  their  "boy,"  as  the  old 
woman  still  called  him.  .Joe  and  Jake  threw  their  brown 
legs  over  the  barn-yard  fence  and  clamored  for  a  ride  upon 
Roger.  "  Only  along  the  level,  t'other  side  o'  the  big  hill, 
Gilbert !  "  said  Joe,  whereupon  the  two  boys  punched  each 
other  in  the  sides  and  nearly  smothered  with  wicked  laugh- 
ter. Gilbert  understood  them  ;  he  shook  his  head,  and 
said :  "  You  rascals,  I  think  I  see  vo"  doing  that  again  ! " 
But  he  turned  away  his  face,  to  conceal  a  smile  at  the 
recollection. 

It  was.  truly,  a  wicked  trick.  The  boys  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  the  farm-horses  out  of  the  field  aud 
riding  them  up  and  down  the  Unionville  road.  It  Tvas 
their  habit,  as  soon  as  they  had  climbed  "  the  big  hill,"  to 
use  stick  and  voice  with  great  energy,  force  the  animals 
into  a  gallop,  and  so  dash  along  the  level.  Very  soon,  the 
horses  knew  what  was  expected  of  them,  and  whenever 
they  came  abreast  of  the  great  chestnut-tree  on  the  top  of 
the  hill,  they  would  start  off  as  if  possessed.  If  any  busi- 
ness called  Farmer  Fairthom  to  the  Street  Road,  or  up 
Marlborough  way,  Joe  and  Jake,  dancing  with  delight, 
would  dart  around  the  bam,  gain  the  wooded  hollow,  climb 
the  big  hill  behind  the  lime-kiln,  and  hide  themselves 
under  the  hedge,  at  the  commencement  of  the  level  road. 
Here  they  could  watch  their  father,  as  his  benign,  unsus- 
pecting face  came  in  sight,  mounting  the  hill,  either  upon 
the  gray  mare,  Bonnie,  or  the  brown  gelding,  Peter.  Aa 
the  horse  neared  the  chestnut-tree,  they  fairly  shook  w.tb 


148  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

eager  expectancy  —  then  came  the  start,  the  astonishmeni 
of  the  old  man,  his  frantic  "  Whoa,  there,  whoa  ! "  his  hat 
soaring  off  on  the  wind,  his  short,  stout  body  bouncing  in 
the  saddle,  as,  half-unseated,. he  clung  with  one  hand  to 
the  mane  and  the  other  to  the  bridle  !  —  while  the  wicked 
boys,  after  breathlessly  watching  him  out  of  sight,  rolled 
over  and  over  on  the  grass,  shrieking  and  yelling  in  a 
perfect  luxury  of  fun. 

Then  they  knew  that  a  test  would  come,  and  prepared 
themselves  to  meet  it  When,  at  dinner,  Farmer  Fair- 
thorn  turned  to  his  wife  and  said :  "  Mammy,"  (so  he  al- 
ways addressed  her)  "  I  don't  know  what 's  the  mattei  with 
Bonnie ;  why,  she  came  nigh  runnin'  off  with  me  !  "  —  Joe. 
being  the  oldest  and  boldest,  would  look  up  in  well-af« 
fected  surprise,  and  ask,  "  Why,  how.  Daddy  ?  "  while  Jake 
would  bend  down  his  head  and  whimper,  —  "  Somethin'  's 
got  into  my  eye."  Yet  the  boys  were  very  good-hearted 
fellows,  at  bottom,  and  we  are  sorry  that  we  must  chron- 
icle so  many  things  to  their  discredit 

Sally  Fairthorn  met  Gilbert  in  her  usual  impetuous 
way.  She  was  glad  to  see  him,  but  she  could  not  help 
saying :  "  Well,  have  you  got  your  tongue  yet,  Gilbert  ? 
Why,  you  're  growing  to  be  as  queer  as  Dick's  hat-band  !  • 
I  don't  know  any  more  where  to  find  you,  or  how  to  place 
you ;  whatever  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Sally,"  he  answered,  with  something  of  his 
old  playfulness,  "  nothing  except  that  the  pears  were  very 
good.     How  's  Mark  ?  " 

"  Mark !  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  very  well  assumed  sneer, 
"  As  if  I  kept  an  account  of  Mark's  comings  and  goings !  " 
But  she  could  not  prevent  an  extra  color  from  rising  into 
her  face. 

"I  wish  you  did,  Sally,"  Gilbert  gravely  remarked. 
"  Mark  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  one  of*  my  best  friends,  and 
he  'd  be  all  the  better,  if  a  smart,  sensible  girl  like  youf- 
ielf  would  care  a  little  for  him," 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  l49 

There  w^as  no  answer  to  this,  and  Sally,  with  a  hast} 
'  ni  tell  mother  you  're  here !  "  darted  into  the  ho\ise. 

Gilbert  was  careful  not  to  ask  many  questions  during  hia 
visit ;  but  Sally's  rattling  tongue  supplied  him  with  all  he 
would  have  been  likely  to  learn,  in  any  case.  She  had 
found  Martha  at  home  the  day  before,  and  had  talked  about 
him,  Gilbert.  Martha  had  n't  noticed  anything  "queer" 
in  his  manner,  whereupon  she,  Sally,  had  said  that  Martha 
was  growing  "  queer  "  too  ;  then  Martha  remarked  that  — 
but  here  Sally  found  that  she  had  been  talking  altogether 
too  fast,  so  she  bit  her  tongue  and  blushed  a  little.  The 
most  important  piece  of  news,  however,  was  that  Miss  Lav- 
ender was  then  staying  at  Dr.  Deane's. 

On  his  way  to  the  village,  Gilbert  chose  the  readiest  and 
simplest  way  of  accomplishing  his  purpose.  lie  would  call 
on  Betsy  Lavender,  and  ask  her  to  arrange  her  time  so 
that  she  could  visit  his  mother  during  his  approaching  ab- 
sence from  home.  Leaving  his  horse  at  the  hitching-post 
in  front  of  the  store,  he  walked  boldly  across  the  road  and 
knocked  at  Dr.  Deane's  door. 

The  Doctor  was  absent.  ISIartha  and  Miss  Lavender 
were  in  the  sitting-room,  and  a  keen,  sweet  throb  in  his 
blood  responded  to  the  voice  that  bade  him  ^nter. 

"  Gilbert  Potter,  I  '11  be  snaked !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lav- 
ender, jumping  up  with  a  start  that  overturned  her  foot- 
stool. 

"  Well,  Gilbert ! "  and  «  Well,  ISIartha ! "  were  the  only 
words  *he  lovers  exchanged,  on  meeting,  but  their  handa 
were  quick  to  clasp  and  loath  to  loose.  Martha  Deane  was 
too  clear-headed  to  be  often  surprised  by  an  impulse  of  the 
heait,  but  when  the  latter  experience  came  to  her,  she 
never  thought  of  doubting  its  justness.  She  had  not  been 
fully,  vitally  aware  of  her  love  for  Gilbert  until  the  day 
when  he  declared  it,  and  now,  in  memory,  the  two  circura- 
gtances  seemed  to  make  but  one  fact  The  warmth,  the 
Heauty,  the  spiritual  expansion  which  accompany  love  had 


150  THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT. 

^hce  then  dtiAvned  upon  her  nature  in  their  true  signifi 
cance.  Proudly  and  cautiously  as  she  would  have  guarded 
her  secret  from  an  intrusive  eye,  just  as  frank,  tender,  and 
brave  was  she  to  reveal  every  emotion  of  her  heart  to  her 
lover.  She  was  thoroughly  penetrated  with  the  conviction 
of  his  truth,  of  the  integral  nobility  of  his  manhood ;  and 
these,  she  felt,  were  the  qualities  her  heart  had  uncon- 
sciously craved.  Her  mind  was  made  up  inflexibly ;  it  re- 
joiced in  his  companionship,  it  trusted  in  his  fidelity,  and 
if  she  considered  conventional  difficulties,  it  was  only  to 
estimate  how  they  could  most  speedily  be  overthrown- 
Martha  Deane  was  in  advance  of  her  age,  —  or,  at  least,  oi 
the  community  in  which  she  lived. 

They  could  only  exchange  common-places,  of  course,  in 
Miss  Lavender's  presence  ;  and  perhaps  they  were  not 
aware  of  the  gentle,  afFeciionate  way  in  which  they  spoke 
of  the  weather  and  similar  topics.  Miss  Lavender  was ; 
her  eyes  opened  widely,  then  nearly  closed  with  an  expres- 
sion of  superhuman  wisdom  ;  she  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  nodded  to  the  lilac -bush,  then  exclaiming  in  des- 
perate awkwardness  :  "  Goodness  me,  I  must  have  a  bit  o' 
sage  ! "  made  for  the  garden,  with  long  strides. 

Gilbert  was  too  innocent  to  suspect  the  artifice  —  not  so 
Martha.  But  while  she  would  have  foiled  the  inference  of 
any  other  woman,  she  accepted  Betsy's  without  the  least 
embarrassment,  and  took  Gilbert's  hand  again  in  her  own 
before  the  door  had  fairly  closed. 

"  O  Martha ! "  he  cried,  "  if  I  could  but  see  youioftener 
—  but  for  a  minute,  every  day  !  But  there  —  I  won't  be 
impatient.  I  've  thought  of  you  ever  since,  and  I  ask  my- 
self, the  first  thing  when  I  wake,  morning  after  morning,  is 
it  really  true  ?  " 

"  And  T  say  to  myself,  every  morning,  it  is  true,"  she  an- 
swered. Her  lovely  blue  eyes  smiled  upon  him  with  a 
blissful  consent,  so  gentle  and  so  perfect,  tha';  he  would  fain 
have  stood  thus  and  spoken  no  word  more. 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  IS] 

**  Martha,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  thought  of  his  duty, 
*I  have  something  to  say.  You  can  hear  it  now.  My 
mother  declares  that  I  am  her  lawful  son,  bom  in  wedlock 
—  she  gave  me  her  solemn  word  —  but  more  than  that  she 
will  not  allow  me  to  ask,  §aying  she  's  bound  for  a  time, 
and  something,  I  don't  know  what,  must  happen  before  she 
can  set  herself  right  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  I  believe 
her,  Martha,  and  I  want  that  you  should  believe  her,  for 
her  sake  and  for  mine.  I  can't  make  things  clear  to  you, 
now,  because  they  're  not  clear  to  myself;  only,  what  she 
has  declared  is  and  must  be  true !  I  am  not  base-bom, 
and  it  '11  be  made  manifest,  I  'm  sure  ;  the  Lord  will  open 
her  mouth  in  his  own  good  time  —  and  until  then,  we  must 
wait !     Will  you  wait  with  me  ?  " 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  hurriedly,  and  his  communica 
tion  was  so  imexpected  that  she  scarcely  comprehended  its 
full  import  But  for  his  sake,  she  dared  not  hesitate  to 
answer. 

*'  Can  you  ask  it,  Gilbert  ?  Whatever  your  mother  de- 
clares to  you,  must  be  true  ;  yet  I  scarcely  understand  it" 

*'  Nor  can  I !  I  've  wearied  my  brains,  trying  to  guess 
why  she  can't  speak,  and  what  it  is  that  '11  give  her  tlie  lib- 
erty at  last.  I  dare  n't  ask  her  more  —  she  fainted  dead 
away,  the  last  time." 

"  Strange  things  sometimes  happen  in  this  world,"  said 
Martha,  with  a  grave  tenderness,  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  "  and  this  seems  to  be  one  of  the  strangest  I  am 
glad  you  have  told  me,  Gilbert,  —  it  will  make  so  much 
difference  to  you !  " 

"  So  it  don't  take  you  from  me,  Martlia,"  he  groaned,  in 
s  return  of  his  terrible  dread. 

"  Only  Death  can  do  that  —  and  then  but  for  a  little 
while." 

Here  Miss  Betsy  Lavender  made  her  appearance,  but 
without  the  sage. 

"  How  far  a  body  can  see,  Martha,"  she  exclaimed,  ^smce 


162  THE  STORY  vF  KENNETT. 

the  big  gum-tree 's  been  cut  down.  It  lays  open  the  signt 
o'  tlie  road  across  the  creek,  and  I  seen  your  father  ridin' 
down  the  hill,  as  plain  as  could  be !  " 

"  Betsy,"  said  Gilbert,  "  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  com' 
ing  down  our  way." 

"  Our  way.  Did  you  ?  I  see  your  horse  hitched  over  at 
the  store.  I  've  an  xirrand,  —  sewin'-thread  and  pearl  but- 
tons, —  and  so  I  '11  git  my  bonnet  and  you  can  tell  me  on 
the  way." 

The  lovers  said  farewell,  and  Betsy  Lavender  accompa- 
nied Gilbert,  proposing  to  walk  a  little  way  with  him  and 
get  the  articles  on  her  return. 

"  Gilbert  Potter,"  she  said,  when  they  were  out  of  sight 
and  ear-shot  of  the  village,  "  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  've 
got  eyes  in  my  head.  7  'm  a  safe  body,  as  you  can  see, 
though  it  may  n't  seem  the  proper  thing  in  me  to  say  it, 
but  all  otlier  folks  is  n't,  so  look  out !  " 

"  Betsy ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  seem  to  know  everything 
about  everybody  —  at  least,  you  know  what  I  am,  perhaps 
better  than  I  do  myself;  now  suppose  I  grant  you're  right, 
what  do  you  think  of  it .'' " 

"  Think  of  it  ?  Go  'long !  —  you  know  what  you  want 
me  to  say,  that  there  never  was  such  a  pair  o'  lovyers  under 
the  firmament!  Let  my  deeds  prove  what  I  think,  say  I 
—  for  here  's  a  case  where  deeds  is  wanted  ! " 

"  You  can  help  me,  Betsy  — you  can  help  me  now  I  Do 
you  know  —  can  you  guess  —  who  was  my  father  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  was  her  surprised  exclamation  —  "  No,  I 
don't,  and  that 's  the  fact." 

"  Who  was  Martha  Deane's  mother  ?  " 

"  A  Blake  —  Naomi,  one  o  tlie  Birmingham  Blakes, 
and  a  nice  woman  she  was,  too.  I  was  at  her  weddin',  and 
I  helped  nuss  her  when  Martha  was  born." 

"  Had  Dr.  Deane  been  married  before  ?  " 

"  Married  before  ?  Well  —  no  ! "  Here  Miss  Betsy 
Kcmed  to  be  suddenly  put  upon  her  guard.    "  Not  to  that 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  158 

extent,  I  should  say.  However,  it 's  neither  here  nor  there 
Good  lack,  boy  !  "  she  cried,  noticing  a  deadly  paleness  on 
Gilbert's  face  — "  a-h-h-h,  I  begin  to  understand  now. 
Look  here,  Gilbert !  Git  that  nonsense  out  o'  y'r  head,  jist 
as  soon  as  you  can.  There  's  enough  o'  trouble  ahead, 
without  borrowin'  any  more  out  o'  y'r  wanderin'  wits.  I 
don't  deny  but  what  I  was  holdin'  back  somethin',  but  it 's 
another  thing  as  ever  was.  I  '11  speak  j/ou  clear  o'  your 
misdoubtin's,  if  that 's  y'r  present  bother.  You  don't  feel 
quite  as  much  like  a  live  corpse,  now,  I  reckon,  hey  ?  " 

"  0,  Betsy ! "  he  said.  "  if  you  knew  how  I  have  been 
perplexed,  you  would  n't  wonder  at  my  fancies  !  " 

"  I  can  fancy  all  that,  my  boy,"  she  gently  answered, 
"  and  I  '11  tell  you  another  thing,  Gilbert  —  your  mother 
has  a  heavy  secret  on  her  mind,  and  I  rather  guess  it  con- 
cerns your  father.  No  —  don't  look  so  eager-like  —  I  don't 
know  it  All  I  do  know  is  that  you  were  bom  in  Phildel- 
phy." 

"  In  Philadelphia  !     I  never  heard  that" 

"  "Well  —  it  's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  've  had  my 
hands  too  full  to  spy  out  other  people's  affairs,  but  many 
a  thing  has  come  to  me  in  a  nateral  way,  or  half-unbe- 
known. You  can't  do  better  than  leave  all  sich  wild 
guesses  and  misdoubtin's  to  me,  that 's  better  able  to  handle 
'em.  Not  that  I  'm  a-goin'  to  preach  and  declare  anything 
until  I  know  the  rights  of  it  whatever  and  wherever.  Well, 
as  I  was  sayin' —  for  there  's  Beulah  Green  comin'  up  the 
road,  and  you  must  git  your  usual  face  onto  you,  though 
Goodness  knows,  mine  's  so  crooked,  I  've  often  said  nothin' 
short  o'  Death  '11  ever  make  nmch  change  in  it  —  but  ilever 
mind,  I  '11  go  do\vn  a  few  days  to  your  mother,  when  you  're 
off,  though  1  don't  promise  to  do  much,  except  maybe, 
cheer  her  up  a  bit ;  but  we  '11  see,  and  so  remember  me  to 
her,  and  good-bye !  " 

With  these  words  and  a  sharp,  bony  wring  of  his  hand, 
Miss  Betsy  strode  rapidly  back  to  the  village.    It  did  not 


154  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

escape  Gilbert's  eye  that,  strongly  as  she  had  pronoiuiceJ 
against  his  secret  fear,  the  detection  of  it  had  agitated  her. 
She  had  spoken  hurriedly,  and  hastened  away  as  if  desir- 
ing to  avoid  further  questions.  He  could  not  banish  the 
suspicion  that  she  knew  something  which  might  affect  his 
fortune  ;  but  she  had  not  forbidden  his  love  for  IMartha  — 
she  had  promised  to  help  him,  and  that  was  a  great  conso- 
lation. His  cheerfulness,  thenceforth,  was  not  assumed, 
fcnd  he  rejoiced  to  see  a  very  faint,  shadowy  reflection  of  i^ 
■t  times,  in  his  mother's  face. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  15A 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ALFRED   BAR'/ON   BETWEEN   TWO  FIRES. 

For  some  days  after  Dr.  Deane's  visit,  Old-man  Barton 
was  a  continual  source  of  astonishment  to  his  son  Alfred 
and  his  daughter  Ann.  The  signs  of  gradual  decay  which 
one  of  them,  at  least,  had  watched  with  the  keenest  inter- 
est, had  suddenly  disappeared  ;  he  was  brighter,  sharper, 
more  talkative  than  at  any  time  within  the  previous  five 
years.  The  almost  worn-out  machinery  of  his  life  seemed 
to  have  been  mysteriously  repaired,  whether  by  Dr.  Deane's 
tinkering,  or  by  one  of  those  freaks  of  Nature  which  some- 
Umes  bring  new  teeth  and  hair  to  an  aged  head,  neither 
the  son  nor  the  daughter  could  guess.  To  the  former  this 
awakened  activity  of  the  old  man's  brain  was  not  a  little 
annoying.  He  had  been  obliged  to  renew  his  note  for  the 
money  bon'owed  to  replace  that  which  had  been  transferred 
to  Sandy  Flash,  and  in  the  mean  time  was  concocting  an 
ingenious  device  by  which  the  loss  should  not  entirely  fall 
on  his  own  half-share  of  the  farm-profits.  He  could  not 
have  endured  his  father's  tyranny  without  the  delight  of 
tlie  cautious  and  wary  revenges  of  tliis  kind  which  he 
sometimes  allowed  himself  to  take. 

Another  circumstance,  which  gave  him  great  uneasiness, 
W.1S  this  :  the  old  man  endeavored  in  various  ways,  both 
direct  and  indirect,  to  obtain  knowledge  of  the  small  invest- 
ments which  he  had  made  from  time  to  time.  The  most 
of  these  had  been,  through  the  agency  of  the  old  lawyer  at 
Chester,  consolidated  into  a  first-class  mortgage ;  but  it  waa 
Alfred's  interest  to  keep  his  father  in  ignorance  of  the 


1.40  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Other  sums,  not  because  of  their  importance,  but  because  of 
their  insignificance.  He  knew  that  the  old  man's  declara- 
tion was  true, — "  The  more  you  have,  the  more  you  '11  get ! " 

The  following  Sunday,  as  he  was  shaving  himself  at  the 
back  kitchen-window,  —  Ann  being  up-stairs,  at  her  thread- 
bare toilet,  ^—  Old  Barton,  who  had  been  silent  during 
breakfast,  suddenly  addressed  him  : 

"  Well,  boy,  how  stands  the  matter  now  ?  " 

The  son  knew  very  well  what  was  meant,  but  he  thought 
it  best  to  ask,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  — 

«  What  matter.  Daddy  ?  " 

"  What  matter,  eh  ?  The  colt's  lame  leg,  or  the  farrow 
o*  the  big  sow  ?  Gad,  boy  !  don't  you  ever  think  about  the 
gal,  except  when  I  put  it  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that ! "  exclaimed  Alfred,  with  a  smirk  of  well- 
assumed  satisfaction  —  "  that,  indeed  !  Well,  I  think  I  may 
say,  Daddy,  that  all  's  right  in  that  quarter." 

"  Spoken  to  her  yet  ? " 

"  N-no,  not  right  out,  that  is ;  but  since  other  folks  have 
found  out  what  I  'm  after,  I  guess  it 's  plain  enough  to  her. 
And  a  good  sign  is,  that  she  plays  a  little  shy." 

"  Should  n't  wonder,"  growled  the  old  man.  "  Seems  to 
me  you  play  a  little  shy,  too.  Have  to  take  it  in  my  own 
hands,  if  it  ever  comes  to  anything." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  at  all  necessary ;  I  can  do  my  own  court- 
ing," Alfred  replied,  as  he  wiped  his  razor  and  laid  it  away. 

"  Do  it,  then,  boy,  in  short  order !  You  're  too  old  to 
stand  in  need  o'  much  billin'  and  cooin'  —  but  the  gal  *s 
rayther  young,  and  may  expect  it  —  and  I  s'pose  it 's  the 
way.  But  I  'd  sooner  you  'd  step  up  to  the  Doctor,  bein' 
as  I  can  only  take  him  when  he  comes  here  to  me  loaded 
and  primed.  He  's  mighty  cute  and  sharp,  but  if  you  've 
got  any  giunption,  we  '11  be  even  with  him." 

Alfred  turned  around  quickly  and  looked  at  his  father. 

"  Ay,  boy,  I  've  had  one  bout  with  him,  last  Sunday,  and 
(ihere  's  more  to  come." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  157 

*  "What  was  it?" 

"  Set  yourself  down  on  that  cheer,  and  keep  your  head 
fctraight  a  bit,  so  that  what  goes  into  one  ear,  don't  fly  out 
at  the  t'other." 

While  Alfred,  with  a  singular  expression  of  curiosity  and 
distrust,  obeyed  this  command,  the  old  man  deliberated,  for 
the  last  time,  on  the  peculiar  tactics  to  be  adopted,  so  that 
his  son  should  be  made  an  ally,  as  against  Dr.  Deane,  and 
yet  be  prevented  from  becoming  a  second  foe,  as  against 
his  own  property.  P^or  it  was  very  evident  that  while  it 
was  the  father's  interest  to  exaggerate  the  son's  presumed 
wealth,  it  was  the  latter's  interest  to  underrate  it  Thus  a 
third  element  came  into  play,  making  this  a  triangular 
game  of  avarice.  If  Alfred  could  have  understood  his  true 
position,  he  would  have  been  more  courageous ;  but  his 
father  had  him  at  a  decided  advantage. 

"  Hark  ye,  boy  ! "  said  he,  "  I  've  waited  e'en  about  long 
enough,  and  it 's  time  this  thing  was  either  a  hit  or  a  flash 
in  the  pan.  The  Doctor  's  ready  for  't ;  for  all  his  cunnin' 
he  could  n't  help  lettin'  me  see  that ;  but  he  tries  to  cover 
both  pockets  with  one  hand  while  he  stretches  out  the 
fother.  The  gal's  money  's  safe,  ten  thousand  of  it,  and 
we  've  agreed  that  ,it  '11  be  share  and  share ;  only,  your'n 
bein'  more  than  her'n,  why,  of  course  he  must  make  up 
the  difference." 

The  son  was  far  from  being  as  shrewd  as  the  father,  or 
he  would  have  instantly  chosen  the  proper  tack ;  but  he  was 
like  a  vessel  caught  in  stays,  and  experienced  considerable 
internal  pitching  and  jostling.  In  one  sense  it  was  a  relief 
that  the  old  man  supposed  him  to  be  worth  nmch  more 
than  was  actually  the  case,  but  long  experience  hinted  that 
a  favorable  assumption  of  this  kind  often  led  to  a  damag* 
ing  result.  So  with  a  wink  and  gi-in,  the  miserable  hypoc- 
risy of  which  was  evident  to  his  own  mind,  he  said : 

"  Of  course  he  must  make  up  the  difference,  and  mora 
(00 1     I  know  what 's  fair  and  square." 


158  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  Shut  your  mouth,  boy,  till  I  give  you  leave  to  open  it 
Do  you  hear  ?  —  the  gal's  ten  thousand  dollars. must  be  put 
ag'inst  the  ten  thousand  you  've  saved  off  the  profits  o'  the 
farm  ;  then,  the  rest  you  've  made  bein'  properly  accounted 
for,  he  nnist  come  down  with  the  same  amo;int.  Then,  you 
must  find  out  to  a  hair  what  he  's  worth  of  his  own  —  not 
that  it  concerns  you,  but  /  must  know.  "Wliat  you  've  got 
to  do  is  about  as  much  as  you  've  wits  for.  Now,  open 
yoiu*  mouth  !  " 

"  Ten  thousand  ! "  exclaimed  Alfi'ed,  beginning  to  com- 
prehend the  matter  more  clearly  ;  "  why,  it 's  hardly  quite 
ten  thousand  altogether,  let  alone  anything  over!" 

"  No  lies,  no  lies  !  I  've  got  it  all  in  my  head,  if  you 
have  n't.  Twenty  years  on  shares  —  first  year,  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-seven  dollars  —  that  was  the  year  the  big 
flood  swep'  off  half  the  corn  on  the  bottom ;  second  year, 
two  hundred  and  fifteen,  with  interest  on  the  first,  say  six 
on  a  hundred,  allowin'  the  thirty-seven  for  your  squander- 
in's,  two  hundred  and  twenty-one ;  third  year,  three  hun- 
dred and  five,  with  interest,  seventeen,  makes  three  hun- 
dred and  twenty-two,  and  twenty,  your  half  of  the  bay 
horse  sold  to  Sam  Falconer,  forty-two ;  fourth  year  "  — 

"  Never  mind.  Daddy !  "  Alfred  interrupted  ;  "  I  've  got 
it  all  down  in  my  books ;  you  need  n't  go  over  it." 

The  old  man  struck  his  hickory  staff  violently  upon  the 
floor.  "  I  xoill  go  over  it !  "  he  croaked,  hoarsely.  "  I  mean 
to  show  you,  boy,  to  your  own  eyes  and  your  own  cars,  that 
you  're  now  worth  thirteen  thousand  two  hundred  and 
forty-nine  dollars  and  fifleen  cents !  And  ten  thousand  of 
it  balances  the  gal's  ten  thousand,  Icavin'  three  thousand 
two  hundred  and  forty-nine  and  fifleen  cents,  for  the 
Doctor  to  make  up  to  you  I  And  you  '11  show  him  your 
papers,  for  you  're  no  son  of  mine  if  you  've  put  out  your 
money  without  securin'  it.  I  don't  mind  your  goin'  jt)ur 
own  road  with  what  you  've  arned,  though,  for  your  proper 
good,  you  need  n't  ha'   been  so   close;  but  now  you  've 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  159 

got  to  show  what 's  in  your  hand,  if  you  mean  to  git  It 
double ! " 

Alfred  Barton  was  overwhelmed  by  the  terrors  of  this 
unexpected  dilemma.  His  superficial  powers  of  dissimula- 
tion forsook  him ;  he  could  only  suggest,  in  a  weak  voice : 

"  Suppose  my  papers  don't  show  that  much  ?  " 

"  You  've  made  that,  or  nigh  onto  it,  and  your  papers 
must  show  it !  If  money  can't  stick  to  your  fingers,  do  you 
s'pose  I  'm  goin'  to  put  more  into  'cm  ?  Fix  it  any  way 
you  like  with  the  Doctor,  so  you  square  accounts.  Then, 
afterwards,  let  him  come  to  me  —  ay,  let  him  come ! " 

Here  the  old  man  chuckled  until  he  brought  on  a  fit  of 
coughing,  which  drove  the  dark  purple  blood  into  his  head. 
His  son  hastened  to  restore  him  with  a  glass  of  brandy. 

"  There,  that  '11  do,"  he  said,  presently  ;  "  now  you  know 
what 's  what.  Go  up  to  the  Doctor's  this  afternoon,  and 
have  it  out  before  you  come  home.  I  can't  dance  at  your 
wcddin',  but  I  would  n't  mind  help  nuss  another  grand- 
child or  two  —  eh,  boy  ?  " 

"  Damme,  and  so  you  shall,  Dad  1 "  the  son  exclaimed, 
relapsing  into  his  customary  swagger,  as  the  readiest 
means  of  flattering  the  old  man's  more  amiable  mood.  It 
was  an  easier  matter  to  encounter  Dr.  Deane  —  to  procras- 
tinate and  prolong  the  settlement  of  terms,  or  shift  the 
responsibility  of  the  final  r-^sult  from  his  own  shoulders. 
Of  course  the  present  command  must  be  obeyed,  and  it 
was  by  no  means  an  agreeable  one  ;  but  Alfred  Barton  had 
courage  enough  for  any  emergency  not  yet  arrived.  So  he 
began  to  talk  and  joke  very  comfortably  about  his  possible 
marriage,  until  Ann,  descending  to  *the  kitchen  in  her  sol- 
emn black  gown,  interrupted  the  conference. 

That  afternoon,  as  Alfred  took  his  way  by  the  foot-path 
to  the  village,  he  seated  hiniself  in  the  shade,  on  one  end 
of  the  log  which  spanned  the  creek,  in  order  to  examine 
2us  position,  before  venturing  on  a  farther  step.  We  will 
not  probe  the  depths  of  his  meditations ;  probably  thej 


100  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

were  not  very  deep,  even  when  most  serious  ;  but  y(^  maj 
readily  conjecture  those  considerations  which  were  chiefly 
obvious  to  his  mind.  The  affair,  which  he  had  so  long  de- 
layed, through  a  powerful  and  perhaps  a  natural  dread,  was 
Qow  brought  to  a  crisis.  He  could  not  retreat  without  ex- 
treme risk  to  his  prospects  of  inheritance ;  since  his  father 
and  Dr.  Deane  had  come  to  an  actual  conference,  he  was 
forced  to  assume  the  part  which  was  appropriate  to  him. 
Sentiment,  he  was  aware,  would  not  be  exacted,  but  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  masculine  anticipation  belonged  to  his  char- 
acter of  lover ;  should  he  assume  this,  also,  or  meet  Dr. 
Deane  on  a  hard  business  ground  ? 

It  is  a  matter  of  doubt  whether  any  vulgar  man  suspects 
the  full  extent  of  his  vulgarity ;  but  there  are  few  who  are 
not  conscious,  now  and  then,  of  a  very  uncomfortable  dif- 
ference between  themselves  and  the  refined  natures  with 
whom  they  come  in  contact  Alfred  Barton  had  never 
been  so  troubled  by  this  consciousness  as  when  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Martha  Deane.  He  was  afraid  of  her ;  he  foresaw 
that  she,  as  his  wife,  would  place  him  in  a  more  painful 
..abjection  than  that  which  his  father  now  enforced.  He 
was  weary  of  bondage,  and  longed  to  draw  a  free,  unwor- 
ried  breath.  With  all  his  swagger,  his  life  had  not  always 
been  easy  or  agreeable.  A  year  or  two  more  might  see 
him,  in  fact  and  in  truth,  his  own  master.  He  was  fifty 
years  old  ;  his  habits  of  life  were  fixed ;  he  would  have 
shrunk  from  the  semi-servitude  of  marriage,  though  with  a 
woman  after  his  own  heart,  and  there  was  nothing  in  this 
(except  the  money)  to  attract  him. 

"  I  see  no  way  !  "  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  after  a  fit  of 
long  and  unsatisfactory  musing. 

"  Nor  I  neither,  unless  you  make  room  for  me ! "  an 
swered  a  shrill  voice  at  his  side. 

He  started  as  if  shot,  becoming  aware  of  Miss  Betsj 
lAvender,  who  had  just  emerged  from  the  thicket. 

*  Skeered  ye,  have  I  ?  "  said  she.    "  Why,  how  you  do 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  161 

color  up,  to  be  sure  !  I  never  was  that  red,  even  in  mj 
blushin'  days ;  but  never  mind,  what 's  said  to  nobody  u 
r.obody's  business." 

He  laughed  a  forced  laugh.  "  I  was  thinking,  Misa 
Betsy,"  he  said,  "  how  to  get  the  grain  threshed  and  sent 
to  the  mills  before  prices  come  down.  Which  way  are  you 
going'" 

She  had  been  observing  him  through  half-closed  eyes, 
with  her  head  a  little  thro^vn  back.  First  slightly  nodding 
to  herself,  as  if  assenting  to  some  mental  remark,  she 
asked, — 

"  Which  way  are  you  goin'  ?  For  my  part  I  rather  think 
ire  're  changin'  places,  —  me  to  see  Miss  Ann,  and  you  to 
«ee  Miss  Martha." 

"  You  're  wrong !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  was  only  going  to 
make  a  little  neighborly  call  on  the  Doctor." 

"  On  the  Doctor !  Ah-ha  !  it 's  come  to  that,  has  it  ? 
Well,  I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

"  Confound  the  witch  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  she 
sprang  upon  the  log  and  hurried  over. 

Mr.  Alfred  Barton  was  not  acquainted  with  the  Greek 
drama,  or  he  would  have  had  a  very  real  sense  of  what  is 
meant  by  Fate.  As  it  was,  he  submitted  to  circumstances, 
climbed  the  hill,  and  never  halted  until  he  found  himself 
in  Dr.  Deane's  sitting-room.  ^ 

Of  course,  the  Doctor  was  alone  and  unoccupied ;  it 
always  happens  so.  Moreover  he  knew,  and  Alfred  Bar- 
ton knew  that  he  knew,  the  subject  to  be  discussed ;  but 
it  was  not  the  custom  of  the  neighborhood  to  approach  an 
important  interest  except  in  a  very  gradual  and  roundabout 
manner.  Therefore  the  Doctor  said,  after  the  first  greet- 
ing,— 

"Thee '11  be  getting  thy  crops  to  market  soon,  I  im- 
agine?" 

"I'd  like  to,"  Barton  replied,  "but  there's  not  force 
enough  on  our  place,  and  the  threshers  are  wanted  every* 

n 


162  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

where  at  once.  What  would  you  do,  — hurry  off  the  gnun 
now,  or  wait  to  see  how  it  may  stand  in  the  spring?" 

Dr.  Dcanc  meditated  a  moment,  and  then  answered  with 
great  deliberation:  "I  never  like  to  advise,  where  the 
chances  are  about  even.  It  depends,  thee  knows,  on  the 
prospect  of  next  year's  crops.  But,  which  ever  way  thee 
decides,  it  will  make  less  difference  to  thee  than  to  them 
that  depend  altogether  upon  their  yearly  earnings." 

Barton  understood  this  stealthy  approach  to  the  impor* 
tant  subject,  and  met  it  in  the  same  way.  "  I  don't  know," 
he  said  ;  "  it 's  slow  saving  on  half-profits.  I  have  to  look 
mighty  close,  to  make  anything  decent." 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "what  is  n't  laid  up  hj  thee 
is  laid  up /or  thee,  I  should  judge." 

"  I  should  hope  so.  Doctor ;  but  I  guess  you  know  the 
old  man  as  well  as  I  do.  If  anybody  could  tell  what  *s  in 
his  mind,  it 's  Lawyer  Stacy,  and  he 's  as  close  as  a  steel- 
trap.  I've  hardly  had  a  fair  chance,  and  it  ought  to  be 
made  up  to  me." 

"It  will  be,  no  doubt"  And  then  the  Doctor,  resting 
his  chin  upon  his  cane,  relapsed  into  a  grave,  silent,  expec- 
tant mood,  which  his  guest  well  understood. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an  awkward  attempt  at  a 
gay,  confidential  manner,  "  you  know  what  I  come  for  to- 
day. Perhaps  I  'm  rather  an  old  boy  to  be  here  on  such 
an  errand  ;  I  've  been  a  bit  afraid  lest  you  might  think  me 
so  ;  and  for  that  reason  I  hav  n't  spoken  to  INIartha  at  all, 
(though  I  tliink  she 's  smart  enough  to  guess  how  my  mind 
turns,)  and  won't  speak,  till  I  first  have  your  leave. 
I  'm  not  so  young  as  to  be  light-headed  in  such  matters ; 
and,  most  likely,  I  ^m  not  everything  that  Martha  would 
like ;  but  —  but  —  there  's  other  things  to  be  considered  — 
not  that  I  mind  'em  much,  only  the  old  man,  you  know, 
is  very  particular  about  'em,  and  so  I  've  come  up  to  see 
if  we  can't  agree  without  much  trouble." 

Dr.  Deane  took  a  small  pinch  of  Rappee,  and  then 


THE  STORY  OF  KEXNEIT.  163 

touched  his  nose  h'ghtly  with  his  lavendered  handkerchief 
He  drew  up  his  hanging  under-lip  until  it  nearly  coverec 
tlie  upper,  and  lifted  his  nostrils  with  an  air  at  once  of 
reticence  and  wisdom.  "I  don't  deny,"  he  said  slowly 
"that  I  've  suspected  something  of  what  is  in  thy  mind 
and  I  will  further  say  that  thee  's  done  right  in  coming 
first  to  me.  Martha  being  an  only  d — child,  I  have  hei 
welfare  much  at  heart,  and  if  I  had  known  anything  seri 
ously  to  thy  discredit,  I  would  not  have  permitted  thy  atten- 
tions. So  far  as  that  goes,  thee  may  feel  easy  I  dia 
hope,  however,  that  thee  would  have  some  assurance  of 
what  thy  father  intends  to  do  for  thee  —  and  perhaps  thee 
has,  —  Elisha  being  established  in  his  own  independence, 
and  Ann  not  requiring  a  great  deal,  thee  would  inherit 
considerable,  besides  the  farm.  And  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  might  justly,  in  Martha's  interest-  ask  for  some  such 
assurance." 

If  Alfred  Barton's  secret  thought  had  been  expressed  in 
words,  it  would  have  been :  "  Curse  the  old  fool  —  he 
knows  what  the  old  man  is,  as  well  as  I  do ! "  But  he 
twisted  a  respectful  hypocrisy  out  of  his  whisker,  and 
said,  — 

"  Ye-e-es,  that  seems  only  fair.  How  am  /  to  get  at  it, 
though  ?  I  dare  n't  touch  the  subject  with  a  ten-foot  pole, 
and  yet  it  stands  both  to  law  and  reason  that  I  should  come 
in  for  a  handsome  slice  o'  the  property.  You  might  take 
it  for  granted,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  So  I  might,  if  thy  father  would  take  for  granted  what  1 
might  be  able  to  do.  I  can  see,  however,  that  it 's  hardly 
thy  place  to  ask  him  ;  that  might  be  left  to  me." 

Thb  was  an  idea  which  had  not  occurred  to  Alfred  Bar- 
ton. A  thrill  of  greedy  curiosity  shot  through  liis  heart ; 
he  saw  that,  with  Dr.  Deane's  help,  he  might  be  able  to 
ascertain  the  amount  of  the  inheritance  which  must  so 
Boon  fall  to  him.  This  feeling,  fed  by  the  impatience  of 
his  long  subjection^  took  complete  possession  of  him.  and 


164  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

he  resolved  to  further  his  father's  desires,  without  regard 
to  present  results. 

"  Yes.  that  might  be  left  to  me,"  the  Doctor  repeated 
"after  the  other  matter  is  settled.  Thee  knows  what  1 
mean.  Martha  will  have  ten  thousand  dollars  in  her  own 
right,  at  twenty-five,  —  and  sooner,  if  she  marries  with  ray 
approbation.  Now,  thee  or  thy  father  must  bring  an  equal 
sum;  that  is  understood  between  us  —  and  I  think  thy 
father  mentioned  that  thee  could  do  it  without  calling  upon 
him.     Is  that  the  case  ?  " 

"Not  quite  —  but,  yes,  very  nearly.  That  is,  the  old 
man  's  been  so  close  with  me,  that  I  'm  a  little  close  with 
him,  Doctor,  you  see  !  He  does  n't  know  exactly  how 
much  I  have  got,  and  as  he  threatens  to  leave  me  accord- 
ing to  what  I  've  saved,  why,  I  rather  let  him  have  his  own 
way  about  the  matter." 

A  keen,  shrewd  smile  flitted  over  the  Doctor's  face. 

"  But  if  it  is  n't  quite  altogether  ten  thousand,  Doctor," 
Barton  continued,  "  I  don't  say  but  what  it  could  be  easily 
made  up  to  that  figure.  You  and  I  could  arrange  all  that 
between  our  two  selves,  without  consulting  the  old  man 
—  and,  indeed,  it  *s  not  Ms  business,  in  any  way,  —  and  so, 
you  might  go  straight  to  the  other  matter  at  once." 

"  H'm,"  mused  the  Doctor,  with  his  chin  again  upon  his 
stick,  "  1  should  perhaps  be  working  in  thy  interest,  as 
much  as  in  mine.  Then  thee  can  afford  to  come  up  fair 
and  square  to  the  mark.  Of  course,  thee  has  all  the  papers 
to  show  for  thy  own  property  ?  " 

"  I  guess  there  '11  be  no  trouble  about  that,"  Barton  an- 
swered, carelessly.  "  I  lend  on  none  but  the  best  security. 
'Twill  take  a  little  time  —  must  go  to  Chester  —  so  we 
need  n't  wait  for  that ;  't  will  be  all  right !  " 

"  Oh,  no  doubt ;  but  has  n't  thee  overlooked  one 
thing  ?  " 

"  Wliat  ?  " 

« That  Martha  should  first  know  thy  mind  towards  her* 


THE  STOKT  OF  KENNETT.  165 

It  was  true ;  he  had  overlooked  that  important  fact,  and 
the  suggestion  came  to  him  very  like  an  attack  of  cramp. 
He  laughed,  however,  took  out  a  red  silk  handkerchief,  and 
tried  to  wipe  a  little  eagerness  into  his  face. 

"  No,  Doctor ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  not  forgot,  only  keeping 
the  best  for  the  last  I  was  n't  sure  but  you  might  want  to 
speak  to  her  yourself,  first ;  but  she  knows,  does  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  direct  knowledge ;  and  I  would  n't  like  to 
venture  to  speak  in  her  name." 

"  Then,  I  '11  —  that  is,  you  think  I  'd  better  have  a  talk 
with  her.  A  little  tough,  at  my  time  of  life,  ha !  ha !  — 
but  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady ;  and  I  had  n't  thought 
of  going  that  far  to-day,  though  of  course,  I  'm  anxious,  — 
been  in  my  thoughts  so  long, —  and  perhaps  —  perhaps  " — 

"  I  '11  tell  thee,"  said  the  Doctor,  seeming  not  to  notice 
Barton's  visible  embarrassment,  which  he  found  very  nat- 
ural ;  ''  do  thee  come  up  again  next  First-day  afternoon, 
prepared  to  speak  thy  mind.  I  will  give  Martha  a  hint 
(£  thy  purpose  beforehand,  but  only  a  hint,  mind  thee ; 
the  girl  has  a  smart  head  of  her  own,  and  thee  '11  come  on 
faster  with  her  if  thee  pleads  thy  own  cause  with  thy  own 
mouth." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  come  then ! "  cried  Barton,  so  relieved  at  his 
present  escape  that  his  relief  took  the  expression  of  joy. 
Dr.  Deane  was  a  fair  judge  of  character ;  he  knew  all  of 
Alfred  Barton's  prominent  traits,  and  imagined  that  he 
was  now  reading  him  like  an  open  book ;  but  it  was  like 
reading  one  of  those  Latin  sentences  which,  to  the  ear, 
are  made  up  of  English  words.  The  signs  were  all  correct, 
only  they  belonged  to  another  language. 

The  heavy  wooer  shortly  took  his  departure.  While  on 
the  return  path,  he  caught  sight  of  Miss  Betsy  Lavender's 
beaver,  bobbing  along  behind  the  pickets  of  the  hill-fence, 
and,  rather  than  encounter  its  wearer  in  his  present  mood, 
he  stole  into  the  shelter  of  one  of  the  cross-hedges,  and 
nude  his  way  into  the  timbered  bottom  below. 


166  THE  STOBT  OF  KENNETT 


CHAPTER  XVL 

MAHTnA  DEANE. 

LnxLE  did  Dr.  Deane  suspect  the  nature  of  tlie  couver 
sation  which  had  that  morning  been  held  in  his  daughter*! 
room,  between  hereelf  and  Betsy  Lavender. 

"NA'hen  the  latter  returned  from  her  interview  with  Gil- 
bert Potter,  the  previous  evening,  she  found  the  Doctor 
already  arrived.  Mark  came  home  at  supper-time,  and 
the  evening  was  so  prolonged  by  his  rattling  tongue  that 
no  room  was  left  for  any  confidential  talk  with  Martha, 
although  Miss  Betsy  felt  that  something  ought  to  be  said, 
and  it  properly  fell  to  her  lot  to  broach  the  delicate  sub- 
ject 

After  breakfast  on  Sunday  morning,  therefore,  she 
slipped  up  to  Martha's  room,  on  the  transparent  pre- 
tence of  looking  again  at  a  new  dress,  which  had  been 
bought  some  days  before.  She  held  the  stuff  to  the  light, 
turned  it  this  way  and  that,  and  regarded  it  with  an  im- 
portance altogether  out  of  proportion  to  its  value. 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  could  n't  git  the  color  rightly  set  in 
my  head,"  she  remarked ;  "  't  a'n't  quiet  laylock,  nor  yit 
vi'let,  and  there  ought,  by  rights,  to  be  quilled  ribbon  round 
the  neck,  though  the  Doctor  might  consider  it  too  gay ; 
but  never  mind,  he  'd  dress  you  in  drab  or  slate  if  he 
could,  and  I  dunno,  after  all"  — 

"  Betsy ! "  exclaimed  Martha,  with  an  impeiuousncss 
quite  unusual  to  her  calm  nature,  "  throw  down  the  dress  1 
Why  won't  you  speak  of  what  is  in  your  mind ;  don'*-  yon 
see  I  'm  Avaiting  for  it  ?  " 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  167 

*  You  're  right,  child  !  "  Miss  Betsy  cried,  flinging  the 
Btiiff  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room ;  "  I  'm  an  awk- 
ward  old  fool,  with  all  my  cxpcr'ence.  Of  course  I  seen 
it  with  half  a  wink ;  there  !  don't  be  so  trembly  now.  I 
know  how  you  feel,  Martha ;  you  would  n't  think  it,  but  I 
do.  I  can  tell  the  real  signs  from  the  passin'  fancies,  and 
if  ever  I  see  true-love  in  my  born  days,  I  see  it  in  you, 
child,  and  in  /«';«." 

Martha's  face  glowed  in  spite  of  herself.  The  recollec- 
tion of  Gilbert's  embrace  in  the  dusky  glen  came  to  her, 
already  for  the  thousandth  time,  but  warmer,  sweeter  at 
each  recurrence.  She  felt  that  her  hand  trembled  in  that 
of  the  spinster,  as  they  sat  knee  to  knee,  and  that  a  tender 
dew  was  creeping  into  her  eyes  ;  leaning  forward,  she  laid 
her  face  a  moment  on  her  friend's  shoulder,  and  whis- 
pered, — 

"  It  is  all  very  new  and  strange,  Betsy ;  but  I  am  happy." 

Miss  Lavender  did  not  answer  immediately.  With  her 
hand  on  Martha's  soft,  smooth  hair,  she  was  occupied  in 
twistinof  her  arm  so  that  the  sleeve  might  catch  and  con 
ceal  two  troublesome  tears  which  were  at  that  moc}eut 
trickling  down  her  nose.  Besides,  she  was  not  at  all  sure 
of  her  voice,  until  something  like  a  dry  crust  of  bread  in 
her  throat  had  been  forcibly  swallowed  down. 

Martha,  however,  presently  lifted  her  head  with  a  firm, 
courageous  expression,  though  the  rosy  flush  still  suffused 
her  cheeks.  "  I  'm  not  as  independent  as  people  think," 
she  said,  "  for  I  could  n't  help  myself  when  the  time  cam^ 
and  I  seem  to  belong  to  him,  ever  since." 

"  Ever  since.  Of  course  you  do  !  "  remarked  Miss  Betsy, 
with  her  head  down  and  her  hands  busy  at  her  high  comb 
and  thin  twist  of  hair ;  "  every  woman,  savin'  and  exceptin' 
myself,  and  no  fault  o'  mine,  must  play  Jill  to  somebody's 
Jack ;  it 's  man's  way  and  the  Lord's  way,  but  worked  out 
with  a  mighty  variety,  though  I  say  it,  but  why  not,  mj 
ejes  bein'  as^  good  as  anybody  else's  I     Come  now,  you  're 


168  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 

lookin'  agaiw  '^f^e^  your  own  brave  fashion  ;  and  so,  you  're 
sure  o'  your  heart,  Martha  ?  " 

"  Betsy,  my  heart  speaks  once  and  for  all,"  said  Martha, 
with  kindling  eyes. 

"Once  and  for  all.  I  knowed  it  —  and  so  the  Lord 
help  us !  For  here  I  smell  wagon-loads  o'  trouble ;  and 
if  you  were  n't  a  girl  to  know  her  own  mind  and  stick  to  it, 
come  weal,  come  woe,  and  he  with  a  bull-dog's  jaw  that  11 
never  let  go,  and  I  mean  no  runnin'  of  him  down,  but  on 
the  contrary,  quite  the  reverse,  I  'd  say  to  both,  git  over 
it  somehow  for  it  won't  be,  and  no  matter  if  no  use,  it 's 
my  dooty,  —  well,  it 's  t'other  way,  and  I  've  got  to  give  a 
lift  where  I  can,  and  pull  this  way,  and  shove  that  way, 
and  hold  back  everybody,  maybe,  and  fit  things  to  things, 
and  unfit  other  things,  —  Good  Lord,  child,  you  've  made 
an  awful  job  for  me  f  " 

Therewith  Miss  Betsy  laughed,  with  a  dry,  crisp,  cheer- 
fulness which  quite  covered  up  and  concealed  her  forebod- 
ings. Nothing  pleased  her  better  than  to  see  realized  in 
life  her  own  views  of  what  ought  to  be,  and  the  possibil- 
ity of  becoming  one  of  the  shaping  and  regulating  powers 
to  that  end  stirred  her  nature  to  its  highest  and  most 
joyous  activity. 

Martha  Deane,  equally  brave,  was  more  sanguine.  The 
joy  of  her  expanding  love  foretold  its  fulfilment  to  her 
heart.  "  I  know,  Betisy,"  she  said,  "  that  father  would  not 
hear  of  it  now ;  but  we  are  both  young  and  can  wait,  at 
least  until  I  come  into  my  property- —  ours,  I  ought  to  say, 
for  I  think  of  it  already  as  being  as  much  Gilbert's  as 
mine.     What  other  trouble  can  there  be?" 

"  Is  there  none  on  his  side,  Martha  ?  " 

"  His  birth  ?  Yes,  there  is  —  or  was,  though  not  to  me 
—  never  to  me  !  I  am  so  glad,  for  his  sake,  —  but,  Betsy, 
perhaps  you  do  not  know  "  — 

"  If  there 's  anything  I  need  to  know,  I  '11  find  it  out, 
Hoou  or  late.    He 's  worried,  that  T  see,  and  no  wonder 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  l€l 

poor  boy !  But  as  you  say,  there  's  time  enough,  and  my 
single  and  solitaiy  advice  to  both  o'  you,  is,  don't  look  at 
one  another  before  folks,  if  you  can't  keep  your  eyes  from 
blabbin'.  Not  a  soul  suspicions  anything  now,  and  if  you 
two  '11  only  fix  it  betwixt  and  between  you  to  keep  quiet, 
and  patient,  and  as  forbearin'  in  showin'  feelin'  as  pec>ple 
that  hate  each  other  like  snakes,  why,  who  knows  but 
somethin'  may  turn  up,  all  unexpected,  to  make  the  way 
as  smooth  for  ye  as  a  pitch-pine  plank  !  " 

**  Patient !  "  Martha  muruiured  to  herself.  A  bright 
smile  broke  over  her  face,  as  she  thought  how  sweet  it  would 
be  to  match,  as  best  a  woman  might,  Gilbert's  incompaiv 
able  patience  and  energy  of  purpose.  The  tender  humil- 
ity of  her  love,  so  beautifully  interwoven  with  the  texture 
of  its  pride  and  courage,  filled  her  heart  with  a  balmy  soft- 
ness and  peace.  She  was  already  prepared  to  lay  her 
firm,  independent  spirit  at  his  feet,  or  exercise  it  only  as 
her  new,  eternal  duty  to  him  might  require.  Betsy  Lav- 
ender's warning  could  not  ripple  the  bright  surface  of  her 
happiness ;  she  knew  that  no  one  (hardly  even  Gilbert, 
as  yet)  suspected  that  in  her  heart  the  love  of  a  strong  and 
faithful  and  noble  man  outweighed  all  other  gifts  or  con- 
sequences of  life  —  that,  to  keep  it,  she  would  give  up 
home,  friends,  father,  the  conventional  respect  of  every 
one  she  knew ! 

"  Well,  child  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lavender,  after  a  long 
lapse  of  silence ;  "  the  words  is  said  that  can't  be  taken 
back,  accordin'  to  my  views  o'  things,  though,  Goodness 
knows,  there  's  enough  and  enough  thinks  different,  and 
you  must  abide  by  'em  ;  and  what  I  think  of  it  all  I  '11  tell 
you  when  the  end  comes,  not  before,  so  don't  ask  me  now ; 
but  one  thing  more,  there  's  another  sort  of  a  gust  l)rewin', 
and  goin'  to  break  soon,  if  ever,  and  that  is,  Alf.  Barton, 
—  though  you  won't  believe  it,  —  he's  after  you  in  hia 
stupid  way,  and  your  father  favors  him.  And  my  advice 
is,  hold  him  oflf  as  much  as  you  please,  but  say  nothln'  o' 
Gilbert  r 


170  THE  STORT  OF  KENITETT 

This  «raming  made  no  particular  impression  upon  Ma^ 
tha.  She  playfully  tapped  Miss  Betsy's  high  comb,  and 
said :  "  Now,  if  you  are  going  to  be  so  much  worried  about 
me,  I  shall  be  sorry  that  you  found  it  out" 

"  Well  I  won't !  —  and  now  let  me  hook  your  gownd." 

Often,  after  that,  however,  did  Martha  detect  Miss 
Betsy's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  a  look  of  wistful,  tender 
interest,  and  she  loiew,  though  the  spinster  would  not  say 
it,  that  the  latter  was  alive  with  sympathy,  and  happy  in 
the  new  confidence  between  them.  With  each  day,  her 
own  passion  grew  and  deepened,  until  it  seemed  that  the 
true  knowledge  of  love  came  after  its  confession.  A  sweet, 
vrarm  yearning  for  Gilbert's  presence  took  its  permanent 
seat  in  her  heart ;  not  only  his  sterling  manly  qualities, 
but  his  form,  his  face  —  the  broad,  square  brow ;  the  large, 
sad,  deep-set  gray  eyes;  the  firm,  yet  impassioned  lips  — 
haunted  her  fancy.  Slowly  and  almost  unconsciously  as 
her  affection  had  been  developed,  it  now  took  the  full 
stature  and  wore  the  radiant  form  of  her  maiden  dream 
of  love. 

If  Dr.  Deanc  noticed  the  physical  bloom  and  grace  which 
those  days  brought  to  his  daughter,  he  was  utterly  innocent 
of  the  true  cause.  Perhaps  he  imagined  that  his  own  eyes 
were  first  fairly  opened  to  her  beauty  by  the  prospect  of 
soon  losing  her.  Certainly  she  had  never  seemed  more 
obedient  and  attractive.  He  had  not  forgotten  his  promise 
to  Alfred  Barton  ;  but  no  very  convenient  opportunity  for 
speaking  to  her  on  the  subject  occurred  until  the  following 
Sunday  morning.  Mark  was  not  at  home,  and  he  rode 
with  her  to  Old  Kennett  Meeting. 

As  they  reached  the  top  of  the  long  hill  beyond  the 
creek,  Martha  reined  in  her  horse  to  enjoy  the  pleasant 
wcstv/ard  view  over  the  fair  September  landscape.  The 
few  houses  of  the  \illage  crownf-d  the  opposite  hill ;  but  on 
this  side  the  winding,  wooded  vale  meandered  away,  to  lose 
itself  among  the  swelling  slopes  of  clover  and  stubble-field; 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  171 

imd  beyond,  over  the  blue  level  of  TufFkenamon,  the  oak 
woods  of  Avondale  slept  on  the  horizon.  It  was  a  land* 
Bcapc  siich  as  one  may  see,  in  a  more  cultured  form,  on 
the  road  from  Warwick  to  Stratford.  Every  one  in  Kcn- 
nett  enjoyed  the  view,  but  none  so  much  as  Martha  Deane, 
upon  Avhom  its  harmonious,  pastoral  aspect  exercised  an 
indescribable  charm. 

To  the  left,  on  the  knoll  below,  rose  the  chimneys  of  the 
Barton  farm-house,  over  the  round  tops  of  the  appie-trees, 
and  in  the  nearest  field  Mr.  Alfred's  Ma/yland  cattle  were 
fattening  on  the  second  growth  of  clover. 

"  A  nice  place,  IMartha ! "  said  Dr.  Deane,  with  a  xr&VQ 
of  his  arm,  and  a  whiff  of  sweet  herbs. 

"  Here,  in  this  first  field,  is  the  true  place  for  the  house,' 
she  answered,  thinking  only  of  the  landscape  beauty  of  I'he 
(arm. 

"  Does  thee  mean  so  ?"  the  Doctor  eagerly  asked,  delib- 
erating with  himself  how  much  of  his  plan  it  was  safe  to 
reveal.  "Thee  may  be  right,  and  perhaps  thee  might 
bring  Alfred  to  thy  way  of  thinking." 

She  laughed.     "  It 's  hardly  worth  the  trouble." 

"  I  've  noticed,  of  late,"  her  father  continued,  "  that  Al- 
fred seems  to  set  a  good  deal  of  store  by  thee.  He  visits 
us  pretty  often." 

"  Why,  father ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  they  rode  onward, 
"  it  *s  rather  t/iee  that  attracts  him,  and  cattle,  and  crops, 
and  the  plans  for  catching  Sandy  Flash  !  He  looks  fright' 
ened  whenever  I  speak  to  him." 

*'  A  little  nervous,  perhaps.  Young  men  arc  of:en  so,  iu 
the  company  of  young  women,  I  've  observed." 

Martha  laughed  so  cheerily  that  her  father  said  to  him- 
self: "  Well,  it  docs  n't  displease  her,  at  any  rate."  On  the 
other  hand,  is  was  possible  that  she  might  have  failed  to  see 
Barton  in  the  light  of  a  wooer,  and  therefore  a  further  hint 
would  be  required. 

**  Now  that  we  happen  to  speak  of  him,  Martha,"  he  said, 


172  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  I  might  as  well  tell  thee  that,  in  my  judgment,  he  seems 
to  be  drawn  towards  thee  in  the  way  of  marriage.  He 
may  be  a  little  awkward  in  showing  it,  but  that 's  a  com- 
mon case.  When  he  was  at  our  house,  last  First-day,  he* 
spoke  of  thee  frequently,  and  said  that  he  would  like  to  — 
well,  to  see  thee  soon.  I  believe  he  intends  coming  up  tJiia 
afV«moon," 

Martha  became  grave,  as  Betsy  Lavender's  warning  took 
so  suddenly  a  positive  form.  However,  she  had  thought  of 
this  contingency  as  a  possible  thing,  and  must  prepare  her- 
self to  meet  it  with  firmness. 

"  What  does  thee  say  ?  "  the  Doctor  asked,  after  waiting 
a  few  minutes  for  an  answer. 

"  Father,  I  hope  thee  's  mistaken.  Alfred  Barton  is  noi 
overstocked  with  wit,  I  know,  but  he  can  hardly  be  that 
foolish.     He  is  almost  as  old  as  thee." 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  with  that  tone  of  decision  which 
Dr.  Deane  so  well  knew.  He  set  his  teeth  and  drew  up 
his  under-lip  to  a  grim  pout  If  there  was  to  be  resist- 
ance, he  thought,  she  would  not  find  him  so  yielding  as  on 
otlier  points ;  but  he  would  first  try  a  middle  course. 

"  Understand  me,  IVIartha,"  he  said ;  "  I  do  not  mean  to 
declai'e  what  Alfred  Barton's  sentiments  really  are,  but 
what,  in  my  judgment,  they  might  be.  And  thee  had  bet- 
ter wait  and  learn,  before  setting  thy  mind  either  for  or 
against  him.  It 's  hardly  putting  much  value  upon  thyself, 
to  call  him  foolish." 

"  It  is  a  humiliation  to  me,  if  thee  is  right,  father,"  she 
said. 

"  1  don't  see  that.  Many  young  women  would  be  proud 
of  it.  I  '11  only  say  one  thing,  Martha ;  if  he  seeks  thee, 
and  does  speak  his  mind,  do  thee  treat  him  kindly  and  re* 
Bpectfully." 

"  Have  I  ever  treated  thy  friends  otherwise  ?  "  she  asked 

'•  My  friends !  thee  's  right  —  he  is  my  friend." 

b&e  made  no  reply,  but  her  soul  was  already  coma 


THE  STORV    OF   KENNETT.  178 

gcousl V  arming  itscl f  for  battle.  Her  fathei-'s  face  was  stern 
and  cold,  and  she  saw,  at  once,  that  he  was  on  the  side  of 
the  enemy.  This  struggle  safely  over,  there  would  come 
another  and  a  severer  one.  It  was  well  that  she  had  given 
herself  time,  setting  the  fulfilment  of  her  love  so  far  in  ad- 
vance. 

Notliing  more  was  said  on  this  theme,  either  during  the 
ride  to  Old  Kennett,  or  on  the  return.  Martha's  plan  was 
very  simple  :  she  would  quietly  wait  until  Alfred  Burton 
should  declare  his  sentiments,  and  then  reject  him  once 
and  forever.  She  would  speak  clearly,  and  finally ;  there 
should  be  no  possibility  of  misconception.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  task ;  none  but  a  vain  and  heartless  woman  would 
be  eager  to  assume  it ;  and  Martha  Dcai^e  hoped  that  it 
might  be  spared  her. 

But  she,  no  less  than  her  irresolute  lover,  (if  we  can  ap- 
ply that  word  to  Alfred  Barton,)  was  an  instrument  in  Uie 
hands  of  an  uncomfortable  Fate.  Soon  after  dinner  a 
hesitating  knock  Avas  heard  at  the  door,  and  Barton  entered 
with  a  more  uneasy  air  than  ever  before.  Erelong,  Dr 
Deane  affected  to  have  an  engagement  with  an  invalid  on 
the  New-Garden  road  ;  Betsy  Lavender  had  gone  to  Fair- 
thorn's  for  the  afternoon,  and  the  two  were  alone. 

For  a  few  moments,  Martha  Avas  tempted  to  follow  her 
father's  example,  and  leave  Alfred  Barton  to  his  own  de- 
nces.  Then  she  reflected  that  tliis  was  a  cowardly  feeling; 
it  would  only  postpone  her  task.  He  had  taken  his  seat, 
as  usual,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  room  ;  so  she  came  for- 
ward and  seated  herself  at  the  front  window,  with  her  back 
to  the  light,  thus,  woman-like,  giving  hci'self  all  the  adran- 
tages  of  position. 

Having  his  large,  heavy  face  before  her,  in  full  light,  she 
was  at  first  a  little  surprised  on  finding  that  it  expressed 
not  even  the  fond  anxiety,  much  less  the  eagerness,  of  an 
aspiring  wooer.  The  hiir  and  whiskers,  it  is  true,  were  so 
imoothly  combed  back  that  they  made  long  lappets  on 


174  THE  STORY  OB  EEXNETT. 

either  side  of  his  face  ;  unusual  care  had  been  taken  will 
his  cambric  cravat  and  shirt-ruffles,  and  lie  wore  his  best 
blue  coat,  which  was  entirely  too  warm  for  the  season.  In 
strong  contrast  to  this  external  preparation,  were  his  rest-^ 
less  eyes  which  darted  hither  and  thither  in  avoidance  of 
her  gaze,  the  fidgety  movements  of  his  thick  fingers,  creep- 
ing around  buttons  and  in  and  out  of  button-holes,  and 
finally  the  silly,  embarrassed  half-smile  which  now  and  then 
caiuc  to  his  mouth,  and  made  the  platitudes  of  his  speech 
almout  idiotic. 

Martha  Deane  felt  her  courage  rise  as  she  contemplated 
this  picture.  In  spite  of  the  disgust  which  his  gross  physi- 
cal appearance,  and  the  contempt  which  his  awkward  help- 
lessness inspired,  she  was  conscious  of  a  lurking  sense  ol 
amusement  Eveii  a  curiosity,  which  we  cannot  reprehend, 
to  know  by  what  steps  and  in  what  maimer  he  would  come 
to  the  declaration,  began  to  steal  into  her  mind,  now  that  it 
was  evident  her  answer  could  not  possibly  wound  any  other 
feeling  than  vanity. 

In  this  mood,  sr.e  left  the  burden  of  the  conversa,tion  to 
him.  He  might  flounder,  or  be  completely  stalled,  as 
often  as  he  pleased  ;  it  was  no  part  of  her  business  to  help 
him. 

In  about  three  minutes  after  she  had  taken  her  seat  by 
the  window,  he  remarked,  with  a  convidsive  smile, — 

"  Apples  are  going  to  be  good,  this  year." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  she  said. 

«  Yes ;  do  you  like  'em?     INIost  girls  do." 

"  I  believe  I  do,  —  except  Russets,"  Martha  replied,  »vith 
her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  full  upon  his 
(ace. 

He  twisted  the  smoothness  out  of  one  whisker,  verj 
nmch  disconcerted  at  her  remark,  because  he  could  not 
tell  —  he  never  could,  when  speaking  with  her  —  whether 
or  not  she  was  making  fun  of  him.  But  he  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say,  except  his  own  preferences  iu  the  matter  of 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT-  175 

Apples.  —  a  theme  which  he  pursued  until  Martha  was  verj 
tired  of  it 

lie  next  asked  after  Mark  Deanc,  expressing  at  great 
length  his  favorable  opinion  of  tlie  young  carpenter,  and 
relating  what  pains  he  had  taken  to  procure  for  him  the 
building  of  Ilallowell's  barn.  But  to  each  observation 
Martha  made  the  briefest  f>ossible  replies,  so  that  in  a  short 
tinte  he  was  forced  to  start  another  topic. 

Nearly  an  hour  had  passed,  and  Martha's  sense  of  the 
humorous  had  long  since  vanished  under  the  dreary  monot- 
ony of  the  conversation,  when  Alfred  Barton  seemed  to 
have  come  to  a  desperate  resolution  to  end  his  embarrass- 
ment. Grasping  his  knees  with  both  hands,  and  dropping 
his  head  forward  so  that  the  arrows  of  her  eyes  might 
glance  from  his  fat  forehead,  he  said.  — 

"  I  suppose  you  know  why  I  come  here  to-day,  Miss 
Martha  ?  " 

All  her  powers  were  awake  and  alert  in  a  moment  She 
scrutinized  his  face  keenly,  and,  although  his  eyes  were  hid- 
den, there  were  lines  enough  visible,  especially  about  thb 
mouth,  to  show  that  the  bitter  predominated  over  the  sweet 
in  his  emotions. 

"  To  sec  my  father,  was  n't  it  ?  I  'm  sorry  he  was  obliged 
to  leave  home,"  she  answered. 

"  No,  Miss  Martha,  I  come  to  see  you.  I  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  you,  and  I  'm  sure  you  know  what  I  mean 
by  this  time,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  How  should  I  ?  "  she  coolly  replied.  It  was.  not 
true ;  but  the  truest-hearted  woman  that  ever  lived  could 
have  given  no  other  answer. 

Alfred  Barton  felt  the  sensation  of  a  groan  pass  through 
him,  and  ii  very  nearly  came  out  of  his  mouth.  Then  he 
pushed  on,  in  a  last  wild  effort  to  perform  the  remainder  of 
his  exacted  task  in  one  piece  : 

"  I  want  you  to  be  —  to  be  —  my  —  wife  I  Tliat  is,  mj 
father  and  yours  are  agreed  about  it,  and  they  think  X  oughl 


176  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 

to  speak  to  you.  I  'm  a  good  deal  older,  and  —  and  per 
haps  you  might  n't  fancy  me  in  all  things,  but  they  say  it  '11 
make  little  difference ;  and  if  you  have  n't  thought  about 
it  much,  why,  there  's  no  hurry  as  to  making  up  your  mind. 
I  'vc  told  you  now,  and  to  be  sure  you  ought  to  know,  while 
the  old  folks  are  trying  to  arrange  property  matters,  and 
it 's  my  place,  like,  to  speak  to  you  first" 

Here  he  paused ;  his  face  was  very  red,  and  the  perspi- 
ration was  oozing  in  great  drops  from  every  pore.  He 
drew  forth  the  huge  red  silk  handkerchief,  and  mopped 
his  cheeks,  his  nose,  and  his  forehead ;  then  lifted  liis 
head  and  stole  a  quick  glance  at  Martha.  Something  in 
his  face  puzzled  her,  and  yet  a  sudden  presentiment  of  his 
true  state  of  feeling  flashed  across  her  mind.  She  still 
sat,  looking  steadily  at  him,  and  for  a  few  moments  did  not 
speak. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  Alfred  Barton,"  she  said,  "  I  must  ask  you  one  ques- 
tion ,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  feel  a  sharp  sting.  The  muscles  of  his 
mouth  twitched ;  he  bit  bis  lip,  sank  his  head  again,  and 
murmured,  — 

«Y-ycs." 

"  He  does  not,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  1  am  spared  this 
humiliation.  It  is  a  mean,  low  nature,  and  fears  mine  — 
fears,  and  would  soon  hate.  He  shall  not  see  even  so  much 
of  me  as  would  be  revealed  by  a  frank,  respectful  rejection. 
I  must  punish  him  a  little  for  the  deceit,  and  I  now  sec  how 
to  do  it." 

While  these  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  her  brain, 
she  waited  until  he  should  again  venture  to  meet  her  eye- 
When  he  lifted  his  head,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  You  have  told  an  untruth  !  Don't  turn  your  head 
away ;  look  me  in  the  face,  and  hear  me  tell  you  tliat  you 
do  not  love  me  —  that  you  have  not  come  to  me  of  youi 
own  desire,  and  that  you  would  rather  ten  thousand  timei 


THE  STORY  OF  KENXETT.  177 

I  should  say  No,  if  it  were  not  for  a  little  property  of  mine 
But  suppose  I,  too,  were  of  a  similar  nature ;  suppose  I 
cared  not  for  what  is  called  love,  but  only  for  money  and 
lands  such  as  you  will  inherit ;  suppose  I  found  the  plans 
of  my  father  and  your  father  very  shrewd  and  reasonable, 
and  were  disposed  to  enter  into  them  —  what  then  ?  " 

Alfred  Barton  was  surprised  out  of  the  last  remnant  of 
his  hypocrisy.  His  face,  so  red  up  to  this  moment,  sud- 
denly became  sallow ;  his  chin  dropped,  and  an  expression 
of  amazement  and  fright  came  into  the  eyes  fixed  on 
Martha's. 

The  game  she  was  playing  assumed  a  deeper  interest ; 
here  was  something  which  she  could  not  yet  fathom.  She 
saw  what  influence  had  driven  him  to  her,  against  his  incli- 
nation, but  his  motive  for  seeming  to  obey,  while  dreading 
success,  was  a  puzzle.  Singularly  enough,  a  slight  feeling 
of  commiseration  began  to  soften  her  previous  contempt, 
and  hastened  her  final  answer. 

"I  see  that  these  suppositions  would  not  please  you," 
she  said,  "  and  thank  you  for  the  fact.  Your  face  is  more 
candid  than  your  speech.  I  am  now  ready  to  say,  Alfred 
Barton,  —  because  I  am  sure  the  knowledge  will  be  agree- 
able to  you,  —  that  no  lands,  no  money,  no  command  of 
my  father,  no  degree  of  want,  or  misery,  or  disgrace,  could 
ever  make  me  your  wife !  " 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair  while  speaking,  and  he  also 
started  to  his  feet.  Her  words,  though  such  an  astounding 
relief  in  one  sense,  had  nevertheless  given  him  pain  ;  there 
was  a  sting  in  them  which  cruelly  galled  his  self-conceit 
It  was  enough  to  be  rejected ;  she  need  not  have  put  an 
eternal  gulf  between  their  natures. 

"  "Well,"  said  he,  sliding  the  rim  of  his  beaver  backwards 
and  forwards  between  his  fingers,  "  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to 
be  going.  You  're  very  plain-spoken,  as  I  might  ha' 
known.  I  doubt  whether  we  two  would  make  a  good  team, 
and  no  offence  to  you,  Miss  Martha.    Only,  it  '11  be  a  mor* 

la 


178  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

tal  disappointment  to  the  old  man,  and  —  look  here,  it  aVt 
worth  while  to  say  anything  about  it,  is  it  ?  " 

Alfred  Barton  was  strongly  tempted  to  betray  the  secret 
reason  which  Martha  had  not  yet  discovered.  After  the 
strong  words  he  had  taken  from  her,  she  owed  him  a  kind- 
ness, he  thought ;  if  she  would  only  allow  the  impression 
that  the  matter  was  still  undecided  —  that  more  time 
(which  a  coy  yoimg  maiden  might  reasonably  demand)  had 
been  granted  !  On  the  other  hand,  he  feared  that  her 
clear,  firm  integrity  of  character  would  be  repelled  by  tlie 
nature  of  his  motive.  He  was  beginning  to  feel,  greatly  to 
his  own  surprise,  a  profound  respect  for  her. 

"  (f  my  father  questions  me  about  your  visit,"  she  said, 
"  I  shall  tell  him  simply  that  I  have  declined  your  oficr. 
No  one  else  is  likely  to  ask  me." 

"  I  don't  deny,"  he  continued,  still  lingering  near  the 
door,  "  that  I  've  been  urged  by  my  father  —  yours,  too,  for 
that  matter  —  to  make  the  offer.  But  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  hard  of  me.  I  've  not  had  an  easy  time  of  it,  and 
if  you  knew  eveiything,  you  'd  see  that  a  good  deal  is  n't 
rightly  to  be  laid  to  my  account." 

He  spoke  sadly,  and  so  genuine  a  stamp  of  unhappiness 
was  impressed  upon  his  face,  that  Martha's  feeling  of  com- 
miseration rose  to  the  surface. 

"  You  '11  speak  to  me,  when  we  happen  to  meet  ? "  he 
said. 

"If  I  did  not,"  she  answered,  "  every  one  would  suspect 
that  something  had  occurred.  That  would  be  unpleasant 
for  both  of  us.  Do  not  think  that  I  shall  bear  malice 
against  you ;  on  the  contrary,  I  wish  you  well." 

He  stooped,  kissed  her  hand,  and  then  swiftly,  silently 
tnd  with  averted  head,  left  the  room. 


THE  SrOIiY  OF  KENNETT.  171 


CHAPTER  XYIL 

CONSULTATIONS. 

When  Dr.  Dcane  returned  home,  in  season  for  supper, 
he  found  Martha  and  Betsy  Lavender  employed  about 
their  little  household  matters.  The  former  showed  no 
lack  of  cheerfulness  or  composure,  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
any  such  nervous  unrest  as  would  be  natural  to  a  maiden 
whose  hand  had  just  been  asked  in  marriage.  The  Doctor 
could  not  at  all  guess,  from  her  demeanor,  whether  any- 
thing had  happened  during  his  absence.  That  Alfred 
Barton  had  not  remained  was  rather  an  unfavorable  cir- 
cumstance ;  but  then,  possibly,  he  had  not  found  courage 
to  speak.  All  things  being  considered,  it  seemed  best 
that  he  should  say  nothing  to  Martha,  until  he  had  had 
another  interview  with  his  prospective  son-in-law. 

At  tliis  time  Gilbert  Potter,  in  ignorance  of  the  cunning 
plans  which  were  laid  by  the  old  men,  was  working  early 
and  late  to  accomplish  all  necessary  farm-labor  by  the 
first  of  October.  That  month  he  had  resolved  to  devote 
to  tlae  road  between  Columbia  and  Newport,  and  if  but 
average  success  attended  his  hauling,  the  earnings  of  six 
round  trips,  with  the  result  of  his  bountiful  harvest,  would 
at  last  place  in  his  hands  the  sum  necessary  to  defray  the 
remaining  debt  upon  the  farm.  His  next  year's  wheat-crop 
was  already  sowed,  the  seed-clover  cut,  and  the  fortnight 
which  still  intervened  was  to  be  devoted  to  threshing.  In 
this  emergency,  as  at  reaping-time,  when  it  was  difficult  to 
obtain  extra  hands,  be  depended  on  Deb.  Smith,  and  sh« 
did  not  fail  him. 


180  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETl'. 

Her  principal  home,  when  she  was  not  employed  OB 
farm-work,  was  a  log-hiit,  on  the  edge  of  a  wood,  belong- 
ing to  the  next  farm  north  of  Fairthorn's.  This  fann  — 
the  "Woodrow  property,"  as  it  was  called  —  had  been 
stripped  of  its  stock  and  otherwise  pillaged  by  the  British 
troops,  (Howe  and  Cornwallis  having  had  their  headquar- 
ters at  Kennett  Square),  the  day  previous  to  the  Battle  of 
Brandywine,  and  the  proprietor  l\ad  never  since  recovered 
from  his  losses.  The  place  presented  a  ruined  and  deso- 
lated appearance,  and  Deb.  Smith,  for  that  reason  perhaps, 
had  settled  herself  in  the  original  log-cabin  of  the  first 
settler,  beside  a  swampy  bit  of  ground,  near  the  road.  The 
Woodrow  farm-house  was  on  a  ridge  beyond  the  wood, 
and  no  other  dwelling  was  in  sight. 

The  mysterious  manner  of  life  of  this  woman  had  no 
doubt  given  rise  to  the  bad  name  which  she  bore  in  the 
neighborhood.  She  would  often  disappear  for  a  week  or 
two  at  a  time,  and  her  return  seemed  to  lake  place  inva- 
riably in  the  night.  Sometimes  a  belated  farmer  would 
sec  the  single  front  window  of  her  cabin  lighted  at  mid- 
niglit,  and  hear  the  dulled  sound  of  voices  in  the  stillness. 
But  no  one  cared  to  play  the  spy  upon  her  movements 
very  closely  ;  her  great  strength  and  fierce,  reckless  tem- 
per made  her  dangerous,  and  her  hostility  would  have 
been  worse  than  the  itching  of  ungratified  curiosity.  So 
tliey  let  her  alone,  taking  their  revenge  in  the  character 
they  ascribed  to  her,  and  the  epithets  they  attached  to  her 
name. 

When  Gilbert,  after  hitching  his  horse  in  a  comer  of  the 
zigzag  picket-fence,  climbed  over  and  approached  the 
cabin.  Deb.  Smith  issued  from  it  to  meet  him,  closing  the 
heavy  plank  door  carefully  behind  her. 

"  So,  Mr.  Gilbert !  "  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  hard, 
red  hand,  "  I  reckon  you  want  me  ag'in.  1  've  been  holdin 
off  from  many  jobs  o'  thrashin',  this  week,  because  I  sqSi 
picioned  ye  'd  be  comin'  for  me/' 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  181 

"  Tliauk  you,  Deborah  !  "  said  he,  "  you  *re  a  friend  in 
need." 

"Am  I?  Tliere  you  speak  the  truth.  "Wait  till  you 
see  me  tlniinp  the  Devil's  tattoo  with  my  old  flail  on  your 
thrashin'-floor !  But  you  look  as  cheery  as  an  Easter- 
mornin'  sun  ;  you  've  not  much  for  to  complain  of,  these 
days,  I  guess  ?  " 

Gilbert  smiled. 

"  Take  care ! "  she  cried,  a  kindly  softness  spreading 
over  her  rough  face,  "  good  luck  's  deceitful !  If  I  had  the 
strands  o*  your  fortin'  in  my  hands,  may  be  I  woidd  n't  twist 
*em  even ;  but  I  ha'n't,  and  my  fingers  is  too  thick  to  man- 
age anything  smaller  'n  a  rope-knot  You  're  goin'  ?  Well, 
look  out  for  me  bright  and  early  o'  Monday,  and  my  sar- 
vice  to  your  mother ! " 

As  he  rode  over  the  second  hill,  on  his  way  to  the  vil- 
lage, Gilbert's  heart  leaped,  as  he  beheld  Betsy  Lavender 
just  turning  into  Fairthorn's  gate.  Except  his  mother, 
she  was  the  only  person  who  knew  of  his  love,  and  he  had 
great  need  of  her  kind  and  cautious  assistance. 

He  had  not  allowed  his  heart  simply  to  revel  in  the 
ecstasy  of  its  wonderful  fortune,  or  to  yearn  with  inexpres- 
sible warmth  for  Martha's  dearest  presence,  though  these 
emotions  haunted  him  constantly  ;  he  had  also  endeavored 
to  survey  the  position  in  which  he  stood,  and  to  choose 
the  course  which  would  fulfil  both  his  duty  towards  her 
and  towards  his  mother.  His  coming  independence  would 
have  made  the  prospect  hopefully  bright,  but  for  the  secret 
which  lay  across  it  like  a  threatening  shadow.  Betsy  Lav- 
ender's assurances  had  only  partially  allayed  his  dread  ; 
fiomething  hasty  and  uncertain  in  her  manner  still  lingered 
uneasily  in  his  memory,  and  he  felt  siu-e  that  she  knew 
more  than  she  was  willing  to  tell.  Moreover,  he  craved 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  heart  for  another  interview 
with  Martha,  and  he  knew  of  no  way  to  obtam  it  without 
Betsy's  help. 


188  THE  STORY    D¥   KENNETT. 

Her  hand  was  on  the  gate-latch  when  his  cull  reached 
her  ears.  Looking  up  the  road,  she  saw  that  he  had 
stopped  his  horse  between  the  high,  bushy  banks,  and  was 
beckoning  eai-nestly.  Darting  a  hasty  glance  at  the  ivy- 
draped  windows  nearest  the  road,  and  finding  that  she  was 
not  observed,  she  hurried  to  meet  him. 

"  Betsy,"  he  whispered,  "  I  must  see  Martha  again  before 
I  leave,  and  you  must  tell  me  how." 

"  Tell  me  how.  Folks  say  that  lovyei-s'  wits  arc  sharp," 
said  she,  "  but  I  would  n't  give  much  for  either  o'  your'n. 
I  don't  like  underhanded  goin's-on,  for  my  part,  for  things 
done  in  darkness  '11  come  to  light,  or  somethin'  like  it ; 
but  never  mind,  if  they  're  crooked  everyway  they  won't 
run  in  straight  tracks,  all 't  once't  This  I  see,  and  you 
see,  and  she  sees,  that  we  must  all  keep  as  dark  as  sin." 

"  But  there  must  be  some  way,"  Gilbert  insisted.  "  Do 
you  never  walk  out  together  ?  And  could  n't  we  arrange 
a  time  —  you,  too,  Betsy,  I  want  you  as  well ! " 

"  I  'm  afeard  I  'd  be  like  the  fifth  wheel  to  a  wagon." 

"  No,  no  !  You  must  be  there  —  you  must  hear  a  good 
part  of  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  A  good  part  —  that  'II  do  ;  thought  you  did  n't  mean 
the  whole.  Don't  fret  so,  lad  ;  you  '11  have  Roger  tramp- 
in'  me  down,  next  thing.  Martha  and  me  talk  o'  walkiri 
over  to  Polly  Withers's.  She  promised  Martha  a  pa'tridge* 
breasted  aloe,  and  they  say  you  'vc  got  to  plant  it  in  pewter 
Band,  and  only  water  it  once't  a  month,  and  how  it  can 
grow  I  can't  see ;  but  never  mind,  all  the  same  —  s'pose 
we  say  Friday  afternoon  about  three  o'clock,  goin'  through 
the  big  woods  between  the  Square  and  AVitherses,  and  you 
might  have  a  gim,  for  the  squirls  is  plenty,  and  so  acci- 
dental-like, if  anybody  should  come  along  "  — 

"That's  it,  Betsy!"  Gilbert  cried.  Us  face  flashing 
*  thank  you,  a  thousand  times  !  " 

"  A  tiiousand  times,"  she  repeated.     "  Once't  is  enough." 

Gilbert  rode  homewards,  aft«r  a  pleasant  call  at  Fair 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  189 

thorn's,  in  a  very  joyous  mood.  Not  daring  to  converse 
with  his  mother  on  the  one  subject  which  filled  his  heart, 
he  showed  her  the  calculations  which  positively  assured 
his  independence  in  a  short  time.  She  was  never  weary 
of  going  over  the  figures,  and  although  her  sad,  cautious 
nature  always  led  her  to  anticipate  disappointments,  there 
was  now  so  much  already  in  hand  that  she  was  forced  to 
share  her  son's  sanguine  views.  Gilbert  could  not  help 
noticing  that  this  idea  of  independence,  for  which  she  had 
labored  so  strenuously,  seemed  to  be  regarded,  in  her 
mind,  as  the  first  step  towards  her  mysterious  and  long- 
delayed  justification ;  she  was  so  impatient  for  its  accom- 
plishment, her  sad  brow  lightened  so,  her  breath  came  so 
mucli  freer  as  she  admitted  that  his  calculations  were  cor- 
rect! 

Nevertheless,  as  he  frequently  referred  to  the  matter 
on  the  following  days,  she  at  last  said,  — 

"  Please,  Gill)ert,  don't  always  talk  so  certainly  of  what 
is  n't  over  and  settled  !  It  makes  me  fearsome,  so  to  take 
Providence  for  granted  beforehand.  I  don't  think  the 
Lord  likes  it,  for  I  've  often  noticed  that  it  brings  disap- 
pointment ;  and  I  'd  rather  be  humble  and  submissive  in 
heart,  the  better  to  deserve  our  good  fortune  when  it 
comes." 

"  You  may  be  right,  mother,"  he  answered ;  "  but  it  *h 
pleasant  to  me  to  see  you  looking  a  little  more  hopeful." 

"  Ay,  lad,  I  'd  never  look  otherwise,  for  your  sake,  if  I 
30uld."     And  nothing  more  was  said. 

Before  sunrise  on  Monday  morning,  the  rapid,  alternate 
beats  of  three  flails,  on  Gilbert's  threshing-floor,  made  the 
autumnal  nuisic  which  the  farmer  loves  to  hear.  Two  of 
these  —  Gilbert's  and  Sam's  —  kept  time  with  each  other, 
one  falling  as  the  other  rose ;  but  the  third,  quick,  loud, 
and  filling  all  the  pauses  with  thundering  taps,  was  wielded 
by  the  arm  of  Deb.  Smith.  Day  by  day,  the  pile  of  wheat- 
sheaves  lessened  in  the  great  bay,  and  the  cone  of  golden 


184  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Straw  roso  higher  in  the  barn-yard.  If  a  certain  black  jug, 
behind  the  barn-door,  needed  frequent  replenishing,  Gil- 
bert knew  that  the  strength  of  its  contents  passed  into  the 
red,  bare,  muscular  arms  wliich  shamed  his  own,  and  that 
Deb.,  while  she  was  under  his  roof,  would  allow  herself  no 
coarse  excess,  either  of  manner  or  speech.  The  fierce, 
defiant  look  left  her  face,  and  when  she  sat,  of  an  evening, 
with  her  pipe  in  the  chimney-corner,  both  mother  and  son 
found  her  very  entertaining  company.  In  Sam  she  in- 
spired at  once  admiration  and  despair.  She  could  take 
him  by  the  slack  of  the  waist-band  and  lift  him  at  arm'S" 
length,  and  he  felt  that  he  should  never  be  "  a  full  hand," 
if  he  were  obliged  to  equal  her  performances  with  the  flail. 

Thus,  his  arm  keeping  time  to  the  rhythm  of  joy  in  liis 
heart,  and  tasting  the  satisfaction  of  labor  as  never  before 
in  his  life,  the  days  passed  to  Gilbert  Potter.  Then  came 
the  important  Friday,  hazy  with  *'  the  smoke  of  burning 
summer,"  and  softly  colored  with  the  drifts  of  golden-rods 
and  crimson  sumac  leaves  along  the  edges  of  the  yet  green 
forests.  Easily  feigning  an  errand  to  the  village,  he 
walked  rapidly  up  the  road  in  the  warm  afternoon,  taking 
the  cross-road  to  New-Garden  just  before  reaching  Hallo- 
well's,  and  then  struck  to  the  right  across  the  fields. 

After  passing  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  land  sloped  grad- 
ually down  to  the  eastern  end  of  Tuffkenamon  valley, 
which  terminates  at  the  ridge  upon  which  Kennett  Square 
stands.  Below  him,  on  the  right,  lay  the  field  and  hedge, 
across  which  he  and  Fortune  (he  wondered  what  had  be- 
come of  the  man)  had  followed  the  chase  ;  and  before  him, 
on  the  level,  rose  the  stately  trees  of  the  wood  which  was 
to  be  his  trysting-place.  It  was  a  sweet,  peaceful  scene, 
and  but  for  the  under-current  of  trouble  upon  which  all  hia 
sensations  floated,  he  could  have  recognized  the  beauty  and 
the  bliss  of  human  life,  which  such  golden  days  suggest. 

It  was  scarcely  yet  two  o'clock,  and  he  watched  the 
gmooth  field  nearest  the  village  for  full  three-quarters  of  au 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT.  185 

hour,  before  his  sharp  eyes  could  detect  any  moving  form 
upon  its  surface.  To  impatience  succeeded  doubt,  to  doubt, 
at  its  most  cruel  height,  a  shock  of  certainty.  Betsy  Lav- 
ender and  Martlia  Deane  had  entered  the  field  at  the  bot- 
tom, and,  concealed  behind  the  hedge  of  black-thoni,  had 
walked  half-way  to  the  wood  before  he  discovered  them,  by 
means  of  a  lucky  break  in  the  hedge.  With  breathless 
haste  he  descended  the  slope,  entered  the  wood  at  its  lower 
edge,  and  traversed  the  tangled  thickets  of  dogwood  and 
haw,  until  he  gained  the  foot-path,  winding  through  the 
very  heart  of  the  shade. 

It  was  not  many  minutes  before  the  two  advancing  fonns 
glimmered  among  the  leaves.  As  he  sprang  forward  to 
meet  them.  Miss  Betsy  Lavender  suddenly  exclaimed,  — 
'•  Well,  I  never,  Martha !  here  's  wintergreen  ! "  and  was 
down  on  her  knees,  on  the  dead  leaves,  with  her  long  nose 
nearly  touching  the  plants. 

When  the  lovers  saw  each  other's  eyes,  one  impulse 
drew  them  heart  to  heart.  Each  felt  the  clasp  of  the 
other's  arms,  and  the  sweetness  of  that  perfect  kiss,  which 
is  mutually  given,  as  mutually  taken,  —  the  ripe  fruit  of 
love,  which  having  once  tasted,  all  its  fii*st  timid  tokens 
seem  ever  afterwards  immature  and  unsatisfactory.  The 
hearts  of  both  had  unconsciously  grown  in  warmth,  in 
grace  and  tenderness  ;  and  they  now  felt,  for  the  first  time, 
tlie  utter,  reciprocal  siuTcnder  of  their  natures  which  truly 
gave  them  to  each  other. 

As  they  slowly  unwound  the  blissful  embrace,  and,  hold- 
ing each  other's  hands,  drew  their  faces  apart  imtil  cither's 
eyes  could  receive  the  other's  beloved  countenance,  no 
words  were  spoken,  —  and  none  were  needed.  Thencefor- 
ward, neither  would  ever  say  to  the  other,  —  "  Do  you  love 
me  as  well  as  ever  ? "  or  *'  Are  you  sure  you  can  never 
change?"  —  for  theirs  were  natures  to  which  such  tender 
doubt  and  curiosity  were  foreign.  It  was  not  the  age  of 
introversion  or  analytical  love;  tliey  were  sound,  simple, 


186  THE   STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

fervent  natures,  and  believed  forever  in  the  great  truth 
whicii  had  come  to  them. 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Martlia,  presently,  "  it  was  right  that  we 
should  jnect  before  you  leave  home.  I  have  nuich  to  tell 
you  —  for  now  you  nuist  know  everything  that  concerns 
me  ;  it  is  your  riglit." 

Her  words  were  very  grateful.  To  hear  her  say  "  It  is 
your  right,"  sent  a  thrill  of  purely  unselfish  pride  through 
his  breast.  He  admitted  an  equal  right,  on  her  part ;  the 
moments  were  precious,  and  he  hastened  to  answer  her 
declaration  by  one  as  frank  and  confiding. 

"  And  I,"  he  said,  "  could  not  lake  another  step  until  I 
had  seen  you.  Do  not  fear,  Martha,  to  test  my  patience 
or  my  faith  io  you,  for  anything  you  may  put  upon  me  will 
be  easy  to  bear.  I  have  turned  our  love  over  and  over  in 
my  mind  ;  tried  to  look  at  it  —  as  we  both  luust,  sooner  or 
later  —  as  something  wliicli,  though  it  don't  in  any  wise 
belong  to  others,  yet  with  which  others  have  the  power  to 
interfere.  The  world  is  n't  made  quite  right,  Martha,  and 
we  're  living  in  it." 

Martha's  lip  took  a  firmer  curve.  "  Our  love  is  right, 
Gilbert,"  she  exclaimed,  "  and  the  world  must  give  way !  " 

*'  It  nnist  —  I  've  sworn  it !  Now  let  us  try  to  see  what 
are  the  mountains  in  our  path,  and  how  we  can  best  get 
aroimd  or  over  them.     First,  tliis  is  my  position." 

Thereupon  Gilbert  clearly  and  rapidly  explained  to  her 
his  precise  situation.  He  set  forth  his  favorable  prospects 
of  speedy  independence,  the  obstacle  which  his  mother's 
secret  threw  in  their  way,  and  his  inability  to  guess  any 
means  which  might  imravcl  the  mystery,  and  hasten  his 
and  her  deliverance.  The  disgrace  once  removed,  he 
thought,  all  other  impediments  to  their  union  would  be  of 
trifling  importance. 

"  1  see  all  that  clearly,"  said  Martha,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished ;  "  now,  this  is  my  position." 

She  told  him  frankly  her  father's  plans  concerning  her, 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.    .  187 

and  gave  Iiim,  with  conscientious  minuteness,  all  the  docaila 
of  Alfred  Barton's  inter\-iew.  At  first  his  face  grew  dark, 
but  at  the  cl)se  he  was  able  to  view  the  subject  in  its  true 
character,  and  to  contemplate  it  with  as  careless  a  mcrri- 
ment  as  her  own. 

"  You  see,  Gilbert,"  were  Martha's  final  words,  "  how  wc 
are  situated.  If  I  marry,  against  my  father's  consent,  be- 
fore I  am  twenty-five  "  — 

"  Don't  speak  of  your  property,  Maitlia  1 "  he  cried ;  " I 
never  took  that  into  mind  !  " 

♦'  I  know  you  did  n't,  Gilbert,  but  7  do  !  It  is  mine,  and 
must  be  mine,  to  be  yours ;  here  you  must  let  me  have  my 
own  way  —  I  will  obey  you  in  everything  else.  Four  years 
is  not  long  for  us  to  wait,  having  faith  in  each  other ;  and 
in  that  time,  I  doubt  not,  your  mother's  secret  will  be  re- 
vealed. You  cannot,  must  not,  press  her  further ;  in  the 
meantime  we  will  see  each  other  as  often  as  possible  "  — 

"  Four  years !  "  Gilbert  interrupted,  in  a  tone  almost  of 
despair. 

"  AVell  —  not  quite,"  said  Martha,  smiling  archly ;  "  since 
you  must  know  my  exact  age,  Gilbert,  I  was  twenty-one  on 
the  second  of  last  February  ;  so  that  the  time  is  really  three 
years,  four  months,  and  eleven  days." 

"  I  'd  serve  seven  years,  as  Jacob  served,  if  need  be,"  he 
said.  "  It 's  not  alone  the  waiting ;  it 's  the  anxiety,  the 
uncertainty,  the  terrible  fear  of  that  which  I  don't  know. 
I  'm  sure  that  Betsy  Lavender  guesses  something  about  it ; 
have  you  told  her  what  my  mother  says  ?  " 

"  It  was  your  secret,  Gilbert." 

"  I  did  n't  think,"  he  answered,  softly.  «  But  it 's  well 
she  should  know.    She  is  the  best  friend  we  have.    Betsy ! " 

"  A  mortal  long  time  afore  /  'm  wanted ! "  exclaimed 
Miss  Lavender,  with  assumed  grimness,  as  she  obeyed  the 
call.  "  I  s'pose  you  thought  there  was  no  watch  iieede<l, 
and  both  ends  o'  the  path  open  to  all  the  world.  Well  — 
vhat  an?  /to  do? — move  mountains  likr  a  grain  o' mustard 


186  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

seed  (or  however  it  runs),  dip  out  tli'  ocean  with  a  pint-pot 
or  ketch  old  birds  with  chaff,  eh  ?  " 

Gilbert,  aware  that  she  was  familiar  with  the  particulai 
difficulties  on  Martha's  side,  now  made  her  acquainted  with 
his  own.  At  the  mention  of  his  mother's  declaration  in 
regard  to  his  birth,  she  lifted  her  hands  and  nodded  her 
head,  listening,  thenceforth  to  the  end,  with  half-closed 
eyes  and  her  loose  lips  drawn  up  in  a  curious  pucker. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  he  asked,  as  she  remained 
silent. 

"  Think  of  it  ?  About  as  pretty  a  snarl  as  ever  I  see.  I 
can't  say  as  I  'm  so  over  and  above  taken  aback  by  what 
your  mother  says.  I  've  all  along  had  a  hankerin'  suspi- 
cion of  it  in  my  bones.  Some  things  seems  to  me  like 
the  smell  o'  water-melons,  that  I  've  knowed  to  come  with 
fresh  snow ;  you  know  there  is  no  water-melons,  but  then, 
there  's  the  smell  of  'em  !  But  it  won't  do  to  hurry  a  mat- 
ter o*  this  kind  —  long-sufferin'  and  slow  to  anger,  though 
that  don't  quite  suit,  but  never  mind,  all  the  same  —  my 
opinion  is,  ye  've  both  o'  ye  got  to  wait  I " 

"  Betsy,  do  you  know  nothing  about  it  ?  Can  you  guess 
nothing  ?  "  Gilbert  persisted. 

She  stole  a  quick  glance  at  Martha,  which  he  detected, 
and  a  chill  ran  through  his  blood.     His  face  grew  pale. 

"  Nothin'  that  fits  your  case,"  said  Miss  Lavender,  pres- 
ently. She  saw  the  renewal  of  Gilbert's  suspicion,  and 
was  casting  about  in  her  mind  how  to  allay  it  without  indi- 
cating something  else  which  she  wished  to  conceal.  "  This 
I  '11  say,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  with  desperate  frankness 
"  that  I  do  know  somethin'  that  may  be  o'  use,  when  things 
comes  to  the  wust,  as  I  hope  they  won't,  but  it 's  neither 
I'lern  nor  there  so  far  as  i/ou  two  are  concerned ;  so  don't 
ask  me,  for  I  won't  tell,  and  if  it 's  to  be  done,  I  'm  the  only 
one  to  do  it !  If  I  've  got  my  little  secrets,  I  'm  kcepin' 
'em  in  your  interest,  remember  that  1 " 

There  was  the  glimmer  of  a  tear  in  each  of  Miss  Larcn 
tier's  eyes  before  she  knew  it 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  189 

•  Betsy,  my  dear  fnend  !  "  cried  Gilbert,  "  we  know  yon 
taii  trust  you.  Only  say  this,  for  my  sake  —  that  you  think 
my  mother's  secret  is  nothing  wliich  will  part  Martha  and 
me!" 

*^  Martha  and  me.  I  do  think  so  —  am  I  a  dragon,  or  a 
—  what 's  that  Job  talks  about?  —  a  behemoth  ?  It  *s  no 
use ;  we  must  all  wait  and  see  what  '11  turn  up.  But,  Mar- 
tha, I  'vG  rather  a  bright  thought,  for  a  wonder  ;  what  if  we 
could  bring  Alf  Barton  into  the  plot,  and  git  him  to  help 
us  for  the  sake  o'  Ins  bein'  helped  ?  " 

Blartha  looked  surprised,  but  Gilbert  flushed  up  to  the 
KK>ts  of  his  hair,  and  set  his  lips  firmly  together. 

"  I  dunno  as  it  '11  do,"  continued  Miss  Betsy,  with  perfect 
indifference  to  these  signs,  "  but  then  it  might.  First  and 
foremost,  we  must  try  to  find  out  what  he  wants,  for  it  is  n't 
you,  INIartha  ;  so  you,  Gilbert,  might  as  well  be  a  little  more 
of  a  cowcumber  than  you  are  at  this  present  moment  But 
if  it 's  nothin'  ag'inst  the  law,  and  not  likely,  for  he  's  too 
cute,  we  might  even  use  a  vessel  —  well,  not  exackly  o' 
wrath,  but  somethin'  like  it  There  's  more  'n  one  concern 
at  work  in  all  this,  it  strikes  mc,  and  it  *s  wuth  while  to 
know  'em  all." 

Gilbert  was  ashamed  of  his  sensitiveness  in  regard  to 
Barton,  especially  after  Slartha's  frank  and  merry  confes- 
sion ;  so  he  declared  himself  entirely  willing  to  abide  by  her 
judgment. 

"  It  would  not  be  pleasant  to  have  Alfred  Barton  asso- 
ciated with  us,  even  in  the  way  of  help,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  a  woman's  curiosity  to  know  what  he  means,  I  confess; 
but,  unless  Betsy  could  make  the  discovery  without  me,  I 
would  not  tike  any  steps  towards  it" 

"  Much  would  be  fittin'  to  me,  child,"  said  Miss  Laven- 
der, "  that  would  n't  pass  for  you,  at  all.  "We  've  got  six 
vreeks  till  Gilbert  comes  back,  and  no  need  o'  hurry,  ex- 
cept our  arrand  to  Polly  Withers's,  which  '11  come  to  noth- 
in', unless  you  each  take  leave  of  other  mighty  quick,  while 
I  'm  lookin'  for  some  more  wiutcrsreen." 


190  THF  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

With  these  words  she  turned  short  around  and  strode 

away. 

"It  had  best  be  our  own  secret  yet,  Martha  '  "  he  asked 

"  Yes,  Gilbert,  and  all  the  more  precious." 

They,  clasped  hands  and  kissed,  once,  twice,  thrice,  and 

tlien  the  underwood  slowly  deepened  between  thera,  and 

the  shadows  of  the  forest  separated  them  from  each  other. 


THE  STORY    *F  KENNETT.  191 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

SANDY   FLASH    REAPPEABS. 

During  the  month  of  October,  while  Gilbert  Porter  wai 
occupied  with  his  lonely  and  monotonous  task,  he  had  am- 
ple leisure  to  evolve  a  clear,  calm,  happy  purpose  from  the 
tumult  of  his  excited  feelings.  This  was,  first,  to  accom- 
plish his  own  independence,  which  now  seemed  inevitably 
necessary,  for  his  mother's  sake,  and  its  possible  conse- 
quences to  her ;  then,  strong  in  the  knowledge  of  INIartha 
Deane's  fidelity,  to  wait  with  her. 

With  the  exception  of  a  few  days  of  rainy  weather,  his 
hauling  prospered,  and  he  retm-ned  home  after  five  weeks' 
absence,  to  count  up  the  gains  of  the  year  and  find  thai 
very  little  was  lacking  of  the  entire  amount  to  be  paid. 

Mary  Potter,  as  the  prospect  of  release  drew  so  near, 
became  suddenly  anxious  and  restless.  The  knowledge 
that  a  very  large  sum  of  money  (as  she  considered  it)  was 
in  the  house,  filled  her  with  a  thousand  new  fears.  There 
were  again  rimiors  of  Sandy  Flash  lurking  around  Marl- 
borough, and  she  shuddered  and  trembled  whenever  his 
name  was  mentioned.  Her  imeasiness  became  at  last  so 
great  that  Gilbert  finally  proposed  writing  to  the  conveyan- 
cer in  Chester  who  held  the  mortgage,  and  asking  whether 
the  money  might  not  as  well  be  paid  at  once,  since  he  had 
it  in  hand,  as  wait  until  the  following  spring. 

"  It 's  not  the  regular  way,"  said  she,  "  but  then,  I  sup- 
pose it  '11  hold  in  law.  You  can  ask  Mr.  Trainer  about 
that.  O  Gilbert,  if  it  can  be  done,  it  '11  take  a  great  load 
off  my  mind ! " 

"  Whatever  puts  the  mortgage  into  my  hands,  mother," 


192  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETl. 

said  he,  "  is  legal  enough  for  us.  I  need  n't  even  wait  to 
sell  the  grain ;  Mark  Deane  will  lend  me  the  seventy-five 
dollars  still  to  be  made  up,  if  he  has  them  —  or,  if  he 
can't,  somebody  else  will.  I  was  going  to  the  Square  tliia 
evening ;  so  I  '11  write  the  letter  at  once,  and  put  it  in  the 
office." 

The  first  thing  Gilbert  did,  on  reaching  the  village,  was 
to  post  the  letter  in  season  for  the  mail-rider,  who  went 
once  a  week  to  and  fro  between  Chester  and  Peach-bottom 
Ferry,  on  the  Susquehanna.  Then  he  crossed  tlie  street  to 
Dr.  Deane's,  in  order  to  inquire  for  Mark,  but  with  the 
chief  hope  of  seeing  Martha  for  one  sweet  moment,  at 
least  In  this,  however,  he  was  disappointed  ;  as  he  reached 
the  gate,  Mark  issued  from  the  door. 

"Why,  Gilbert,  old  boy!"  he  shouted;  "the  sight  o' 
you  's  good  for  sore  eyes !  What  have  you  been  about 
since  that  Sunday  evening  we  rode  up  the  west  branch  ? 
I  was  jist  steppin'  over  to  the  tavern  to  see  the  fellows  — 
come  along,  and  have  a  glass  o'  Rye  !  " 

He  threw  his  heavy  arm  over  Gilbert's  shoulder,  and 
drew  him  along. 

"  In  a  minute,  INIark  ;  wait  a  bit  —  I  've  a  little  matter 
of  business  with  you.  I  need  to  borrow  seventy-five  dol- 
lars for  a  month  or  six  weeks,  until  my  wheat  is  sold. 
Have  you  that  much  that  you  're  not  using  ?  " 

"  That  and  more  comin'  to  me  soon,"  said  Mark,  "  and 
of  coui-se  you  can  have  it.     Want  it  right  away  ?  " 

"  Very  likely  in  ten  or  twelve  days." 

"  Oh,  well,  never  fear  —  I  '11  have  some  accoxmts  squared 
by  that  time  !  Come  along ! "  And  therewith  the  good- 
natured  fellow  hurried  his  friend  into  the  bar-room  of  the 
Unicorn. 

"  Done  pretty  well,  haulin',  this  time  ? "  asked  Mark,  as 
they  touched  glasses. 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Gilbert,  "  seeing  it  *s  the  IftSt 
time.    I  'm  at  an  end  with  haulinsr  now." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  195 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?  Here  's  to  your  good  luck ! "  ex- 
claimed Mark,  emptying  his  glass. 

A  man,  who  had  been  tilting  his  chair  against  the  wall, 
'n  the  farther  corner  of  the  room,  now  arose  and  came  for- 
ward.    It  was  Alfred  Barton. 

During  Gilbert's  absence,  neither  this  gentleman's  plan 
nor  that  of  his  father,  had  made  miicli  progress.  It  was 
tolerably  easy,  to  be  sure,  to  give  the  old  man  the  impresi- 
sion  that  the  preliminary  arrangements  with  regai'd  to 
money  were  going  on  harmoniously ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy 
to  procure  Dr.  Deane's  acceptance  of  the  part  marked  out 
for  him.  Alfred  had  sought  an  interview  with  the  latter 
soon  after  that  which  he  had  had  with  Martha,  and  the 
result  was  not  at  all  satisfactory.  The  wooer  had  been 
obliged  to  declare  that  his  suit  was  unsuccessful ;  but,  he 
believed,  only  temporarily  so.  Martha  had  been  taken  by 
surprise  ;  the  question  had  come  upon  her  so  suddenly  that 
she  could  scarcely  be  said  to  know  her  own  mind,  and  time 
must  be  allowed  her.  Although  this  statement  seemed 
probable  to  Dr.  Deane,  as  it  coincided  with  his  own  expe- 
rience in  previously  sounding  his  daughter's  mind,  yet  Al- 
fred's evident  anxiety  that  nothing  should  be  said  to  Martha 
upon  the  subject,  8.iid  that  the  Doctor  should  assume  to  his 
father  that  the  question  of  balancing  her  legacy  was  as 
good  as  settled,  (then  proceed  at  once  to  the  discussion  of 
the  second  and  more  important  question,)  excited  the  Doc- 
tor's suspicions.  He  could  not  well  avoid  giving  the  re- 
quired promise  in  relation  to  INIartha,  but  he  insisted  on 
seeing  the  legal  evidences  of  Alfred  Barton's  property,  be- 
fore going  a  step  further. 

Tlie  latter  was  therefore  in  a  state  of  great  perplexity. 
The  game  he  was  playing  seemed  safe  enough,  so  far,  but 
nothing  had  come  of  it,  and  beyond  this  point  it  could  not 
be  carried,  without  great  increase  of  risk.  He  was  more 
dian  once  tempted  to  drop  it  entirely,  confessing  his  com- 
plete and  final  rejection,  and  allowing  his  father  to  take 


194  VHE  STOlir   OF   KENNETT. 

what  course  he  j leased;  but  presently  tlie  itching  of  his 
avaricious  curiosity  returned  in  full  force,  and  suscested 
new  expedients. 

No  suspicion  of  Gilbert  Potter's  relation  to  JMarlha 
Deane  had  ever  entered  his  mind.  He  had  always  had  a 
liking  for  the  young  man,  and  would,  no  doubt,  have  done 
him  any  good  service  wliich  did  not  require  the  use  of 
money.  He  now  came  forward  very  cordially  and  shook 
hands  with  the  two. 

Gilbert  had  self-possession  enough  to  control  his  first  im- 
pulse, and  to  meet  his  rival  with  his  former  manner.  Se- 
cure in  his  own  fortune,  he  even  felt  that  he  could  afford  to 
be  magnanimous,  and  thus,  by  degrees,  the  dislike  wore  off 
which  Martha's  confession  had  excited. 

'*  What  is  all  this  talk  about  Sandy  Flash  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  's  been  seen  up  above,"  said  Barton ;  '•'  some  say, 
about  Marlborough,  and  some,  along  the  Strasburg  road. 
He  '11  hardly  come  this  way ;  he 's  too  cunning  to  go  where 
the  people  are  prepared  to  receive  him." 

If  either  of  the  three  had  happened  to  look  steadily  at 
the  back  window  of  the  bar-room,  they  might  have  detected, 
in  the  dusk,  the  face  of  Dougherty,  the  Irish  ostler  of  the 
Unicorn  Tavern.  It  disappeared  instantly,  but  there  was 
a  crack  nearly  half  an  inch  wide  between  the  bottom  of 
the  back-door  and  the  sill  under  it,  and  to  that  cracic  a 
large,  flat  ear  was  laid. 

"  If  he  comes  any  nearer,  you  must  send  word  around  at 
once,"  said  Gilbert,  —  "  not  wait  until  he  's  already  among 
us." 

"  Let  me  alone  for  that ! "  l5ai-ton  exclaimed ;  "  Damn 
him,  I  only  Avish  he  had  piuck  enough  to  come  !  " 

Mark  was  indignant.  "  What 's  the  sheriff  and  con- 
stiibles  good  for  ?  "  he  cried.  "  It 's  a  burnin'  shame  that 
the  whole  country  has  been  plundered  so  long,  and  the 
fellow  still  runnin'  at  large.  Much  he  cares  for  *.Le  five 
hundred  dollars  on  his  head." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENXETT.  195 

"It  *s  a  thousand,  now,"  said  Barton.  " They  'vc  doubled 
it." 

"  Como,  that  'd  be  a  good  haul  for  us.  We  're  not  bound 
to  keep  inside  of  our  township;  I'm  for  an  up  and  down 
chase,  all  over  the  country,  as  soon  as  the  fall  v/ork  's 
over ! " 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Gilbert 

"  You  're  fellows  after  my  own  heart,  both  o'  you  ! "  Bar- 
ton asserted,  slapping  them  upon  the  back.  ""What'U 
you  take  to  drink?" 

By  this  time  several  others  had  assembled,  and  the  con- 
versation became  general.  While  the  flying  rumors  about 
Sandy  Flash  were  being  produced  and  discussed,  Barton 
drew  Gilbert  aside. 

"  Suppose  we  step  out  on  the  back-porch,"  he  said,  "  I 
want  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

The  door  closed  between  them  and  the  noisy  bar-room. 
Tliere  was  a  rustling  noise  imder  the  porch,  as  of  a  fowl 
disturbed  on  its  roost,  and  then  everything  was  still. 

"  Your  speaking  of  your  having  done  well  by  hauling 
put  it  into  my  head,  Gilbert,"  Barton  continued.  "I 
wanted  to  borrow  a  little  money  for  a  while,  and  (here 's 
reasons  why  I  should  n't  call  upon  anybody  who  'd  tell  of 
it     Now,  as  you  've  got  it,  lying  idle  "  — 

"It  happens  to  be  just  the  other  way,  Barton,"  said  Gil- 
bert, interrupting  him.     "  I  came  here  to-night  to  borrow." 

"  How  's  that  ?  "  Barton  could  not  help  asking,  witli  a 
momentary  sense  of  chagrin.  But  the  next  moment  he 
added,  in  a  milder  tone,  "  I  don't  mean  to  pry  into  your 
br.s'ness." 

~  I  shall  very  likely  have  to  use  my  money  soon,"  Gil- 
l)ert  explained,  "and  must  at  least  wait  until  I  hear  from 
Chester.  That  will  be  another  week,  and  then,  if  the 
money  should  not  be  wanted,  I  can  accommodate  you.  But, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  dont  think  there 's  much  chance  of 
that" 


196  THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT. 

«  Shall  you  have  to  go  down  to  Chester  ?  ** 

"I  hope  so," 

"  Wlieu  ?  " 

"  In  ten  or  twelve  days  from  now." 

"Then,"  said  Barton,  "I'll  fix  it  this  way.  'T isn't 
on.y  the  money  I  want,  but  to  have  it  paid  in  Chester, 
without  the  old  man  or  SUicy  knowing  anything  of  the 
uatter.  If  I  was  to  go  myself,  Stacy  'd  never  rest  till  he 
found  out  my  business  —  Faith  !  I  believe  if  I  was  hid 
in  the  hayloft  o'  the  William  Penn  Tavern,  he  'd  scent 
me  out.  Now,  I  can  get  the  money  of  another  fellow  I 
know,  if  you  'II  take  it  down  and  hand  it  over  for  me. 
"Would  you  be  that  obliging?" 

"  Of  course,"  Gilbert  answered.  "  If  I  go  it  will  be  no 
additional  trouble." 

"  All  right,"  said  Barton,  "  between  ourselves,  you  un- 
derstand." 

A  week  later,  a  letter,  with  the  following  address  was 
brought  to  the  post-office  by  tlie  mail-rider,  — 

«  To  Mr.  Gilhert  Potter,  Esrf 

Kcnnett  Square  P.  0. 
Tlicse,  with  Care  and  Speed." 

Gilbert,  having  carefully  cut  around  the  wafer  and  un- 
folded tlie  sheet  of  strong  yellowish  paper,  read  tliis  mis- 
sive, — 

"  Sm :  Y'  resp**  favour  of  y**  11*^  came  duly  to  hand, 
And  y"  proposition  w**  it  contains  has  been  submitted  to 
M'  Jones,  y'  present  houldcr  of  y*  mortgage.  He  wishes 
me  to  inform  you  that  he  did  not  anticipate  y'  payment 
before  y'  first  day  of  April,'  1797,  w**  was  y"  tcnn  agreed 
upon  at.  y*  payment  of  y"  fii-st  note ;  nevertheless,  being 

1  This  form  of  the  article,  (hough  in  general  disuse  at  the  lime,  was  stil 
frsQuentl}'  employed  in  epistolary  writing,  iu  that  part  of  Pennsylvanifc 


THE  STOEY  OF  KENNETT.  197 

required  to  accept  full  and  lawful  payment,  whensoever 
tendered,  he  hath  impowered  nie  to  receive  y"  moneys 
at  y'  convenience,  providing  y*  settlement  be  full  and  com- 
pleat,  as  aforesaid,  and  not  meiely  y*  payment  of  a  part  or 
portion  thereof. 

"Y'ob'tserv't, 

"Isaac  Traineii.'* 

Gilbert,  with  his  limited  experience  of  business  matters, 
had  entirely  overlooked  the  fact,  tliat  the  permission  of  the 
creditor  is  not  necessary  to  the  payment  of  a  debt  He 
had  a  profound  respect  for  all  legal  forms,  and  his  indebted- 
ness carried  with  it  a  sense  of  stem  and  perpetual  respon- 
sibilitj-,  which,  alas  !  has  not  always  been  inherited  by  the 
descendants  of  that  simple  and  primitive  period. 

Mary  Potter  received  the  news  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
The  money  was  again  counted,  the  interest  which  would 
be  due  somewhat  laboriously  computed,  and  finally  noth- 
ing remained  but  the  sum  which  Mark  Deane  had  prom- 
ised to  furnish.  This  Mark  expected  to  receive  on  the 
following  Wednesday,  and  Gilbert  and  his  motlier  agreed 
that  the  journey  to  Chester  should  be  made  at  the  close 
of  the  same  week. 

They  went  over  these  calculations  in  the  quiet  of  tlie 
Sabbath  afternoon,  sitting  alone  in  the  neat,  old-fashioned 
kitchen,  with  the  dim  light  of  an  Indian-summer  sun  strilc- 
ing  through  the  leafless  trumpet-vines,  and  making  a  quaint 
network  of  light  and  shade  on  the  whitewashed  window- 
frame.  The  pendulum  ticked  drowsily  along  the  opposite 
wall,  and  the  hickory  back-log  on  the  hearth  hummed  a 
lamentable  song  through  all  its  simmering  pores  of  sap. 
Peaceful  as  the  happy  landscape  without,  dozing  in  dreams 
of  the  departed  summer,  cheery  as  the  tidy  household  signs 
within,  seemed  at  last  the  lives  of  the  two  inmates.  Mary 
Potter  had  not  asked  how  her  son's  wooing  had  furthei 
Bped,  but  she  felt  that  he  was  contented  of  heart ;  sliCt  tooi 


198  THE  SIORY  OF  KEXNETT. 

indulgiTig  finally  in  the  neai  consummation  of  her  hopea^ 
—  which  touched  her  like  the  ]Mt}ing  sympathy  of  tho 
Power  that  had  dealt  so  singularly  with  her  life,  —  was 
nearer  the  feeling  of  happiness  than  she  had  been  for  long 
and  weary  yeare. 

Gilbert  was  moved  by  the  serenity  of  her  face,  and 
the  trouble,  which  he  knew  it  concealed,  seemed,  to  his 
muid,  to  be  wearing  away.  Carefully  securing  the  doors, 
tliey  walked  over  the  fields  together,  pausing  on  the  hill- 
top to  listen  to  the  caw  of  the  gathering  crows,  or  to  watch 
the  ruby  disc  of  the  beamless  sun  stooping  to  touch  the 
western  rim  of  the  valley.  IMany  a  time  had  they  thus 
gone  over  the  farm  together,  but  never  before  with  such 
a  sense  of  peace  and  security.  The  day  was  removed, 
mysteriously,  from  the  circle  of  its  fellows,  and  set  apart 
by  a  peculiar  influence  which  prevented  either  from  ever 
forgetting  it,  during  all  the  years  that  came  after. 

They  were  not  aware  that  at  the  very  moment  this  in- 
fluence was  profoundest  in  their  hearts,  new  rumors  of 
Sandy  Flash's  movements  had  reached  Kennett  Square, 
and  were  being  excitedly  discussed  at  the  Unicorn  Tavern. 
He  had  been  met  on  the  Street  Road,  riding  towards  the 
Red  Lion,  that  very  afternoon,  by  a  man  who  knew  his 
face  ;  and,  later  in  the  evening  came  a  second  report,  that 
an  individual  of  his  build  had  crossed  the  Philadelphia 
Road,  this  side  of  the  Anvil,  and  gone  southward  into  the 
woods.  Many  were  the  surmises,  and  even  detailed  ac- 
coimts,  of  robberies  that  either  had  been  or  might  be  com- 
mitted, but  no  one  could  say  precisely  how  much  was  tine. 

Mark  Deane  was  not  at  home,  and  the  blacksmith  was 
commissioned  to  summon  Alfred  Barton,  who  had  ridden 
over  to  Pennsbury,  on  a  friendly  visit  to  Mr.  Joel  Ferris. 
Wlien  he  finally  made  his  appearance,  towards  ten  o'clock, 
he  was  secretly  horror-stricken  at  the  great  danger  he  had 
escaped ;  but  it  gave  him  an  admirable  opportunity  to 
swagger.    lie  could  do  no  less  than  promise  to  summoQ 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  199 

the  volunteers  in  the  morning,  and  provision  was  made 
accordingly,  for  despatching  as  many  messengers  as  the 
village  could  afford. 

Since  the  British  occupation,  nearly  twenty  years  Iscfore. 
Kennett  Square  had  not  known  as  lively  a  day  as  thai 
which  followed.  The  men  and  boys  were  in  the  street, 
grouped  in  front  of  the  tavern,  the  women  at  the  windows, 
watching,  some  with  alarmed,  but  many  with  amused  faces. 
Sally  Fairthom,  although  it  was  washing-day,  stole  up 
through  Dr.  Deane's  garden  and  into  Martha's  room,  for 
at  least  half  an  hour,  but  Joe  and  Jake  left  their  over- 
turned shocks  of  corn  imhusked  for  the  whole  day. 

Some  of  the  young  famiers  to  whom  the  message  had 
been  sent,  returned  answer  that  they  were  very  busy  and 
could  not  leave  their  work ;  the  horses  of  others  were  lame , 
the  guns  of  others  broken.  By  ten  o'clock,  however,  there 
were  nine  volunteers,  very  irregularly  armed  and-  mounted, 
in  attendance  ;  by  eleven  o'clock,  thirteen,  and  Alfred  Bar- 
ton, whose  place  as  leader  was  anything  but  comfortable, 
began  to  swell  with  an  air  of  importance,  and  set  about 
examining  the  guns  of  his  command.  Neither  he  nor  any 
one  else  noticed  particularly  that  the  Irish  ostler  appeared 
to  be  a  great  connoisseur  in  muskets,  and  was  especially 
interested  in  the  structure  of  the  flints  and  pans. 

"  Let 's  look  over  the  roll,  and  sec  how  many  are  true 
blue,"  said  Barton,  drawing  a  paper  from  his  pocket. 
"  There 's  failing  nine  or  ten,  among  'em  some  I  fully 
counted  on  —  Withers,  he  tnny  come  yet ;  Ferris,  hardly 
tune  to  get  word  ;  but  Carson,  Potter,  and  Travilla  ought 
to  turn  up  curst  soon,  or  we  '11  have  the  sport  without  'em  ! " 

"  Give  me  a  horse,  l\Ir.  Barton,  and  I  *1I  ride  down  for 
Gilbert !  "  cried  Joe  Fairthom. 

"  No  use,  —  Giles  went  this  morning,'*  growled  Barton. 

"  It 's  time  we  were  starting ;  which  road  would  be  best 
to  take  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  volunteers. 

"  All  roads  lead  to  Rome,  but  all  don't  lead  to  Sandj 


200  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Flash,  lia  !  lia .  "  said  another,  laughing  al  his  own  smart 
ness. 

"  Who  knows  where  he  was  seen  last  ?  "  Barton  asked, 
but  it  was  not  easy  to  get  a  coherent  answer.  One  had 
heard  one  report,  and  another  another  ;  he  had  been  seen 
from  the  Street  Road  on  the  north  all  the  way  around 
eastward  by  the  Red  Lion  and  the  Anvil,  and  in  the  rocky 
glen  below  the  Barton  farm,  to  the  lime-quarries  of  TufT- 
kenamon  on  the  west. 

"  Unless  we  scatter,  it  '11  be  like  looking  for  a  needle 
in  a  haystack,"  remarked  one  of  the  more  courageous  vol- 
unteers. 

"  If  they  'd  all  had  spimk  enough  to  come,"  said  Barton, 
"  we  might  ha'  made  four  parties,  and  gone  out  on  each 
road.     As  it  is,  we  're  only  strong  enough  for  two." 

"  Seven  to  one  ?  —  that 's  too  much  odds  in  Sandy's 
favor !  "  cried  a  light-headed  youth,  whereat  the  others  all 
laughed,  and  some  of  them  blushed  a  little. 

Barton  bit  his  lip,  and  with  a  ^vithering  glance  at  the 
young  man,  replied,  —  "  Then  we  '11  make  three  parties, 
and  you  shall  be  the  third." 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  having  elapsed,  without  any 
accession  to  the  troop,  Barton  reluctantly  advised  the  men 
to  get  their  arms,  which  had  been  carelessly  placed  along 
the  tavern-porch,  and  to  mount  for  the  chase. 

Just  then  Joe  and  Jake  Fairthorn,  who  had  been  dodg- 
ing back  and  forth  through  the  village,  watching  the  roads, 
made  their  appearance  with  the  announcement,  — 

"  Hurray  —  there 's  another  —  comin'  up  from  below, 
but  it  a'n't  Gilbert.  He  's  stuck  full  o'  pistols,  but  he  'fl 
a-foot,  and  you  must  git  him  a  horse.  I  tell  you,  he  looks 
like  a  real  buster ! " 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  asked  Barton. 

"  "Wc  '11  see,  in  a  minute,"  said  the  neares*  volunteerak 
taking  up  their  muskets. 

"  There  he  is,  —  there  he  is  1 "  cried  Joe. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  201 

All  eyes,  turned  towards  the  crossing  of  the  roads,  be* 
held,  just  rounding  the  comer-house,  fifty  paces  distant, 
a  short,  broad-shouldered,  determined  figxue,  making  di- 
rectly for  the  tavern.  His  face  was  red  and  freckled,  his 
thin  lips  half-parted  with  a  grin  which  showed  the  flash  of 
white  teeth  between  them,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  the 
light  of  a  cold,  fierce  courage.  He  had  a  double-barrelled 
musket  on  his  shoulder,  and  there  were  four  pistols  in  the 
tight  leathern  belt  about  his  waist. 

Barton  turned  deadly  pale  as  he  beheld  this  man.  An 
astonished  silence  fell  upon  the  group,  but,  the  next  mo- 
ment, some  voice  exclaimed,  in  an  undertone,  which,  nev- 
ertheless, every  one  heard,  — 

"  By  the  living  Lord  !     Sandy  Flash  himself!  " 

There  was  a  general  confused  movement,  of  which  Al- 
fred Barton  took  advantage  to  partly  cover  his  heavy  body 
by  one  of  the  porch-pillars.  Some  of  the  volunteers  started 
back,  others  pressed  closer  together.  The  pert  youth, 
alone,  who  was  to  form  the  third  party,  brought  his  mxisr 
ket  to  his  slioulder. 

Quick  as  lightning  Sandy  Flash  drew  a  pistol  from  hia 
belt  and  levelled  it  at  the  young  man's  breast 

"  Ground  arms  !  "  he  cried,  "  or  you  are  a  dead  man." 

He  was  obeyed,  although  slowly  and  with  grinding  teeth. 

"  Stand  aside  !  "  he  then  commanded.  "  Jom  have  pluck, 
and  I  should  hate  to  shoot  you.  Make  way,  the  rest  o' 
ye !  I  've  saved  ye  the  trouble  o'  ridin'  far  to  find  me. 
Whoever  puts  finger  to  trigger,  falls.  Back,  back,  I  say, 
and  open  the  door  for  me ! " 

Still  advancing  as  he  spoke,  and  shifting  his  pistol  so  as 
to  cover  now  one,  now  another  of  the  group,  he  reached 
the  tavern-porch.  Some  one  opened  the  door  of  the  bar- 
room, which  swung  inwards.  The  highwayman  strode 
directly  to  the  bar,  and  there  stood,  facing  the  open  door, 
while  he  cried  to  the  trembling  bar-keeper,  — 

"A  glass  o'  Eye,  good  and  strong  1 " 


202  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

It  was  set  before  him.  Holding  the  musket  in  his  arm, 
he  took  the  glass,  drank,  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  bacV 
of  his  hand,  and  then,  spinning  a  silver  dollar  into  the  air 
said,  as  it  rang  upon  the  floor,  — 

"i  stand  treat  to-day  ;  let  the  rest  o'  the  gentlemen  drink 
at  my  expense  ! " 

He  then  walked  out,  and  slowly  retreated  backwards 
towards  the  corner-house,  covering  his  retresit  with  the 
levelled  pistol,  and  the  flash  of  his  dauntless  eye. 

He  had  nearly  reached  the  corner,  when  Gilbert  Potter 
dashed  up  behind  him,  with  Roger  all  in  a  foam.  Joe 
Fairthorn,  seized  with  deadly  terror  when  he  heard  the 
terrible  name,  had  set  off*  at  full  speed  for  home  ;  but  de- 
scrying Gilbert  approaching  on  a  gallop,  changed  his  course, 
met  the  latter,  and  gasped  out  the  astounding  intelligence. 
All  this  was  the  work  of  a  minute,  and  when  Gilbert 
reached  the  corner,  a  single  glance  showed  him  the  true 
state  of  affairs.  The  confused  group  in  front  of  the  tavern, 
some  faces  sallow  with  cowardice,  some  red  with  indigna- 
tion and  shame  ;  the  solitary,  retreating  figure,  alive  in 
every  nerve  with  splendid  courage,  told  him  the  whole 
story,  which  Joe's  broken  words  had  only  half  hinted. 

Flinging  himself  from  his  horse,  he  levelled  his  musket, 
and  cried  out,  — 

"  Surrender ! " 

Sandy  P'lash,  with  a  sudden  spring,  placed  his  back 
against  the  house,  pointed  his  pistol  at  Gilbert,  and  said : 
"  Drop  your  gim,  or  I  fire  ! " 

For  answer,  Gilbert  drew  the  trigger  ;  the  crack  of  the 
explosion  rang  sharp  and  clear,  and  a  little  shower  of  mor- 
tar covered  Sandy  Flash's  cocked  hat  The  ball  had 
stnick  the  wall  about  four  inches  above  his  head. 

He  leaped  forward ;  Gilbert  clubbed  his  musket  and 
awaited  him.  They  were  scarcely  two  yards  apart ;  tlie 
highwayman's  pistol  -  barrel  was  opposite  Gilbert's  heart, 
and  the  two  men  were  looking  into  each  other's  eyea 


THE  STORY  OF  KENXETT.  203 

The  group  in  front  of  tlic  tavern  stood  as  if  paralyzed, 
every  man  holding  his  breath. 

«  Halt  1 "  said  Sandy  Flash.  "  Halt !  I  hate  blood?L-cd 
and  besides  that,  young  Potter,  you  're  not  the  man  thf.c  '11 
take  me  prisoner.  I  could  blow  your  brains  out  by  movin' 
this  finger,  but  you  're  safe  from  any  bullet  o'  mine,  who- 
ever a'n't ! " 

At  the  last  words  a  bright,  mocking,  malicious  grin  stole 
over  his  face.  Gilbert,  amazed  to  find  himself  known  to 
the  highwayman,  and  puzzled  with  certain  familiar  marks 
in  the  latter's  countenance,  was  swiftly  enlightened  by  this 
grin.  It  was  Fortune's  face  before  him,  without  the  black 
hair  and  whiskers,  —  and  Fortune's  voice  that  spoke  ! 

Sandy  Flash  saw  the  recognition.  He  grinned  again. 
"You'll  know  your  friend,  another  time,"  he  said,  sprang 
five  feet  backward,  whirled,  gained  the  cover  of  the  house, 
and  was  mounting  his  horse  among  the  bushes  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  before  any  of  the  othere  reached  Gil- 
bert, who  was  still  standing  as  if  tlumder-struck. 

By  this  time  Sandy  Flash  had  leaped  the  hedge  and  was 
careering  like  lightning  towarils  the  shelter  of  the  woods. 
The  interest  now  turned  upon  Gilbert  Potter,  who  was 
very  taciturn  and  thoughtful,  and  had  little  to  relate. 
They  noticed,  however,  that  his  eyes  were  turned  often 
and  incpiiringly  upon  Alfred  Barton,  and  that  the  latter 
as  steadily  avoided  meeting  them. 

When  Gilbert  went  to  bring  Roger,  who  had  quietly 
waited  at  the  crossing  of  the  roads.  Deb.  Smith  suddenly 
made  her  appearance. 

"  I  seen  it  all,"  she  said.  "  I  was  a  bit  up  the  road,  but 
I  seen  it.  You  should  n't  ha'  shot,  Air.  Gilbert,  though 
it  is  n't  him  that 's  bom  to  be  hit  with  a  bullet ;  but  you  're 
safe  enough  from  Ids  bullets,  anyhow  —  whatever  happens, 
yoii  're  safe  !  " 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean,  Deborah  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  as  sbq 
almost  repeated  to  him  Sandy  Flash's  very  words. 


204  THE  STOKY   OF   KENNETT. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  she  answered.  ^^Tou  would  n't  be 
afcard,  but  it  '11  be  a  comfort  to  your  mother.  I  mus* 
have  a  drink  o'  whiskey  after  that  sight." 

"With  these  words  she  elbowed  her  way  into  the  bar- 
room. Most  of  the  Kennett  Volunteers  weic  there  en* 
gaged  in  carrying  out  a  similar  resolution.  They  would 
gladly  have  kept  the  whole  occurrence  secret,  but  that  was 
impossible.  It  was  known  all  over  the  country,  in  three 
days,  and  the  story  of  it  has  not  yet  died  out  of  the  local 
annals. 


THE  8TOBY  OF  K£NM£TT.  SOA 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   HUSKING   FBOLIC. 

Jake  Fairthorn  rushed  into  Dr.  Deane  s  Joor  with  • 
howl  of  terror. 

"  Cousin  Martha  !  Betsy ! "  he  cried ;  "  he  's  goiu'  to 
shoot  Gilbert ! " 

"  None  o'  your  tricks,  boy  !  "  Betsy  Lavender  exclaimed, 
in  her  most  savage  tone,  as  she  saw  the  paleness  of  Mar- 
tha's face.  "  I  'm  up  to  'em.  Who  *d  shoot  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter ?  Not  Alf  Barton,  I  '11  be  bound ;  he  'd  be  afeard  to 
shoot  even  Sandy  Flash  !  " 

"  It 's  Sandy  Flash,  —  he  *s  there  !  Gilbert  shot  his  hat 
off! "  cried  Jake. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  !  "  And  the  next  minute  Ikliss 
Betsy  found  herself,  she  scarcely  knew  how,  in  the  road. 

Both  had  heard  the  shot,  but  supposed  that  it  was  some 
volunteer  discharging  an  old  load  from  his  musket ;  they 
knew  nothing  of  Sandy's  visit  to  the  Unicom,  and  Jake's 
announcement  seemed  simply  incredible. 

"  0  you  wicked  boy  !  What  '11  become  o'  you  ?  "  cried 
Miss  Lavender,  as  she  beheld  Gilbert  Potter  approaching, 
leading  Roger  by  the  bridle.  But  at  the  same  instant  she 
saw,  from  the  faces  of  the  crowd,  that  something  unusual 
had  happened.  While  the  others  instantly  surrounded 
Gilbert,  the  young  volunteer  who  alone  had  made  any 
show  of  fight,  told  the  story  to  the  two  ladies.  Martha 
Deane's  momentary  shock  of  terror  disappeared  under  the 
rush  of  mingled  pride  and  scorn  which  the  narrative  called 
iq;>  in  her  heart. 


206  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  What  a  pack  of  cowards ! "  she  exclaimed,  her  cheeka 
flushing,  —  "  to  stand  still  and  see  the  life  of  the  only  man 
that  dares  to  face  a  robber  at  the  mercy  of  the  robber's 
pistol ! " 

Gilbert  approached.  His  face  was  grave  and  thoughtful, 
but  his  eye  brightened  as  it  met  hers.  No  two  hands  ever 
conveyed  so  many  and  such  swift  messages  as  theirs,  in  thp 
single  moment  when  they  touched  each  other.  The  othei 
women  of  the  village  crowded  around,  and  he  was  obliged, 
though  with  evident  reluctance,  to  relate  his  share  in  the 
event 

In  the  mean  time  the  volunteers  had  issued  from  the 
tavern,  and  were  loudly  discussing  what  course  to  pursue. 
The  most  of  them  were  in  favor  of  instant  pursuit  To 
their  credit  it  must  be  said  that  very  few  of  them  were  act- 
ual cowards  ;  they  had  been  both  surprised  by  the  incred- 
ible daring  of  the  highwayman,  and  betrayed  by  the  cow- 
ardly inefficiency  of  their  own  leader.  Barton,  restored  to 
his  usual  complexion  by  two  glasses  of  whiskey,  was  nearly 
ready  to  head  a  chase  which  he  suspected  would  come  to 
nothing;  but  the  pert  young  volunteer,  who  had  been 
whispering  with  some  of  the  younger  men,  suddenly  cried 
out, — 

"  I  say,  fellows,  we  've  had  about  enough  o'  Barton's  com- 
mand ;  and  I,  for  one,  am  a-goin'  to  enlist  under  Captain 
Potter." 

"  Good ! "  "  Agreed  ! "  responded  a  number  of  others, 
and  some  eight  or  ten  stepped  to  one  side.  The  few  re- 
maining around  Alfred  Barton  began  to  look  doubtful,  and 
all  eyes  were  turned  curiously  upon  him. 

Gilbert,  however,  stepped  forward  and  said :  "  It  *s  bad 
policy  to  divide  our  forces  just  now,  when  we  ought  to  be 
off  on  the  hunt  Mr.  Barton,  we  all  know,  got  up  the  con» 
pany,  and  1  am  willing  to  serve  under  him,  if  he  'U  order 
us  to  mount  at  once !  If  not,  rather  than  lose  more  timei 
(  11  head  as  many  as  are  ready  to  go." 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  Wi 

Barton  saw  how  the  tide  was  turning,  and  suddenly  de- 
termined to  cover  up  his  shame,  if  possible,  with  a  mantle 
of  magnanimity. 

"  The  fellows  are  right,  Gilbert ! "  he  said.  "You  deserve 
to  take  the  lead  to-day,  so  go  ahead  ;  I  '11  follow  you  !  " 

"  Mount,  then,  all  of  you  !  "  Gilbert  cried,  without  further 
hesitation.  In  a  second  he  was  on  Roger's  back.  "■  You, 
Barton,"  he  ordered,  "  take  three  with  you  and  make  for  the 
New-Garden  cross-road  as  fast  as  you  can.  Pratt,  you  and 
three  more  towards  the  Hammer-and-Trowel ;  wliile  I,  with 
the  rest,  follow  the  direct  trail." 

No  more  time  was  wasted  in  talking.  The  men  took 
their  guns  and  mounted,  the  two  detached  commands  were 
told  off,  and  in  five  minutes  the  village  was  left  to  its  own 
inhabitants. 

Gilbert  had  a  long  and  perplexing  chase,  but  very  little 
came  of  it.  The  trail  of  Sandy  Flash's  horse  was  followed 
without  nuich  difficulty  until  it  struck  the  west  branch  of 
Redley  Creek.  There  it  suddenly  ceased,  and  more  tlian 
an  hour  elapsed  before  some  one  discovered  it,  near  the 
road,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  up  the  stream.  Thence 
it  turned  towards  the  Ilamnier-and-Trowel,  but  no  one  at 
the  farm-houses  on  the  road  had  seen  any  one  pass  except 
a  Quaker,  wearing  the  usual  broad-brinuned  hat  and  drab 
coat,  and  mounted  on  a  large,  sleepy-looking  horse. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Gilbert  cletected,  in 
one  of  the  lanes  leading  across  to  the  Street  Road,  the 
marks  of  a  galloping  steed,  and  those  who  had  a  little  lin- 
gering knowledge  of  wood-craft  noticed  that  the  gallop 
often  ceased  suddenly,  changed  to  a  walk,  and  was  then  as 
suddenly  resumed.  Along  the  Street  Road  no  one  had 
beeu  seen  except  a  Quaker,  apparently  the  same  persoa 
Gilbert  and  his  hunters  now  suspected  the  disguise,  but  the 
difficulty  of  following  the  trail  had  increased  with  every 
hour  of  lost  time ;  and  after  scouring  along  the  Brandywine 
and  then  crossing  into  the  Pocopsin  valley,  they  finallj 


208  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

gave  up  the  chase,  late  in  the  day.  Tt  was  the  general 
opinion  that  Sandy  had  struck  northward,  and  was  j^oba 
bly  safe  in  one  of  his  lairs  among  the  Welch  Mountains. 

When  they  reached  the  Unicorn  tavern  at  dusk,  Gilbert 
found  Joe  Fairthorn  impatiently  waiting  for  him.  Sally 
had  been  "  tearin'  around  like  mad,"  (so  Joe  described  ?us 
sister's  excitement,)  having  twice  visited  the  village  during 
the  afternoon  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  hero  of  the  day  — 
after  Sandy  Flash,  of  course,  who  had,  and  deserved,  the 
6rst  place. 

"  And,  Gilbert,"  said  Joe,  "  I  was  n't  to  forgit  to  tell  you 
that  we  're  a-goin'  to  have  a  huskin'  frolic  o'  Wednesday 
night,  —  day  after  to-morrow,  you  know.  Dad  's  behind- 
hand with  huskin',  and  the  moon  's  goin'  to  be  full,  and 
Mark  he  said  Let 's  have  a  frolic,  and  I  'm  comin'  home  to 
meet  Gilbert  anyhow,  and  so  I  '11  be  there.  And  Sally  she 
said  I  '11  have  Martha  and  lots  o'  girls,  only  we  shan't  come 
out  into  the  field  till  you  're  nigh  about  done.  Then  Mark 
he  said  That  won't  take  long,  and  if  you  don't  help  me  with 
my  shocks  I  won't  come,  and  Sally  she  hit  him,  and  so  it 's 
all  agreed.     And  you  'II  come,  Gilbert,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Joe,"  Gilbert  answered,  a  little  impatiently , 
"  tell  Sally  I  '11  come."  Then  he  turned  Roger's  head 
towards  home. 

He  was  glad  of  the  solitary  ride  which  allowed  him  to 
collect  his  thoughts.  Fearless  as  was  his  nature,  the  dan- 
ger he  had  escaped  might  well  have  been  cause  for  grave 
self-congratulation  ;  but  the  thought  of  it  scarcely  lingered 
beyond  the  moment  of  the  encounter.  The  astonishing 
discovery  that  the  stranger,  Fortune,  and  the  redoubtable 
Sandy  Flash  weie  one  and  the  same  person;  the  mysteri- 
ous words  which  this  person  had  addressed  to  him ;  the 
repetition  of  the  same  words  by  Deb.  Smith,  —  all  these 
facts,  suggesting,  as  their  common  solution,  some  secret 
which  concerned  himself,  perplexed  his  mind,  already  mora 
than  sufficiently  occupied  with  mystery. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  109 

It  suddenly  flashed  across  his  memory,  as  he  rode  home 
ward,  that  on  the  evening  when  he  returned  from  the  fox- 
chase,  his  mother  had  manifested  an  unusual  interest  in  the 
strange  huntsman,  questioning  him  minutely  as  to  the  lat- 
ter*s  appearance.  Was  she  —  or,  rather,  had  she  been,  at 
one  time  of  her  life  —  acquainted  with  Sandy  Flash  ?  And 
if  so  — 

"  No ! "  he  cried  aloud,  "  it  is  impossible  !  It  could  not 
—  cannot  be !  "  The  new  possibility  which  assailed  him 
was  even  more  terrible  than  his  previous  belief  in  the  dis- 
honor of  his  birth.  Better,  a  thousand  times,  he  thought, 
be  basely  bom  than  the  son  of  an  outlaw  !  It  seemed  that 
every  attempt  he  made  to  probe  his  mother's  secret  threat- 
ened to  overwhelm  him  with  a  knowledge  far  worse  than 
the  fret  of  his  ignorance.  Why  not  be  patient,  therefore, 
leaving  the  solution  to  her  and  to  time  ? 

Nevertheless,  a  burning  curiosity  led  him  to  relate  to  his 
mother,  that  evening,  the  events  of  the  day.  He  watched 
her  closely  as  he  described  his  encounter  with  the  highway- 
man, and  repeated  the  latter's  words.  It  was  quite  natural 
that  Mary  Potter  should  shudder  and  turn  pale  during  the 
recital  —  quite  natural  that  a  quick  expression  of  relief 
should  shine  from  her  face  at  the  close  ;  but  Gilbert  could 
not  be  sure  that  her  interest  extended  to  any  one  except 
himself  She  suggested  no  explanation  of  Sandy  Flash's 
words,  and  he  asked  none. 

"  I  shall  know  no  peace,  child,"  she  said,  "  until  the 
money  has  been  paid,  and  the  mortgage  is  in  your  hands.** 

"  You  won't  have  long  to  wait,  now,  mother,"  he  an- 
swered cheerily.  "  I  shall  see  Mark  on  Wednesday  even- 
ing, and  therefore  can  start  for  Chester  on  Friday,  come 
rain  or  shine.  As  for  Sandy  Flash,  he  's  no  doubt  up  on 
the  Welch  Mountain  by  this  time.  It  is  n't  his  way  to  turn 
up  twice  in  succession,  in  the  same  place." 

"  You  don't  know  him,  Gilbert.     He  won't  soon  forget 
that  you  shot  at  him." 
14 


210  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

« I  seem  to  be  safe  enough,  if  he  tells  the  truth."  Gilbert 
oould  not  help  remarking. 

Mary  Potter  shook  her  head,  and  said  nothing. 

Two  more  lovely  Indian-summer  days  went  by,  and  as 
the  wine-red  sun  slowly  quenched  his  lower  limb  in  the 
denser  smoke  along  the  horizon,  the  great  bronzed  moon 
struggled  out  of  it,  on  the  opposite  rim  of  the  sky.  It  was 
a  weird  light  and  a  weird  atmosphere,  such  as  we  might 
imagine  overspreading  Babylonian  ruins,  on  the  lone  plain? 
of  the  Euphrates  ;  but  no  such  fancies  either  charmed  oi 
tormented  the  lusty,  wide-awake,  practical  lads  and  lasses, 
whom  the  brightening  moon  beheld  on  their  way  to  the 
Fairthorn  farm.  "The  best  night  for  huskin*  that  ever 
was,"  comprised  the  sum  of  their  appreciation. 

At  the  old  farm-house  there  was  great  stir  of  prepara- 
tion. Sally,  with  her  gown  pinned  up,  dodged  in  and  out 
of  kitchen  and  sitting-room,  catching  herself  on  every 
door-handle,  while  Mother  Fairthorn,  beaming  with  quiet 
content,  stood  by  the  fire,  and  inspected  the  great  kettles 
which  were  to  contain  the  materials  for  the  midnight  sup- 
per. Both  were  relieved  when  Betsy  Lavender  made  her 
appearance,  saying,  — 

"  Let  down  your  gownd,  Sally,  and  give  me  that  ladle. 
What  'd  be  a  mighty  heap  o'  work  for  you,  in  that  flustered 
condition,  is  child's-play  to  the  likes  o'  me,  that 's  as  steady 
as  a  cart-horse,  —  not  that  self-praise,  as  the  sayin'  is,  is  any 
recommendation,  —  but  my  kickin'  and  prancin'  days  is  over, 
and  high  time,  too." 

«  No,  Betsy,  I  '11  not  allow  it ! "  cried  Sally.  "  You  musi 
enjoy  yourself,  too."  But  she  had  parted  with  the  ladla 
while  speaking,  and  Miss  Lavender,  repeating  the  words 
"  Enjoy  yourself,  too  !  "  quietly  took  her  place  in  the 
kitchen. 

The  young  men,  as  they  arrived,  took  their  way  to  the 
com-field,  piloted  by  Joe  and  Jake  Fairthorn.  These  boys 
each  carried  a  wallet  over  his  shoulders,  the  jug  in  the  front 


THE  STORY  OF    KENNETT.  211 

end  balancing  that  behind,  and  the  only  casualty  that  oc- 
curred was  when  Jake,  jumping  down  from  a  fence,  allowed 
his  jugs  to  smite  together,  breaking  one  of  them  to  shivers. 

*'  There,  that  '11  come  out  o'  your  pig-money,"  said  Joe. 

"  I  don't  care,"  Jake  retorted,  "  if  daddy  only  pays  me 
the  rest." 

The  boys,  it  must  be  known,  received  every  year  the  two 
Bmallest  pigs  of  the  old  sow's  litter,  with  the  understand- 
ing that  these  were  to  be  their  separate  property,  on  condi* 
tion  of  their  properly  feeding  and  fostering  the  whole  herd. 
This  duty  they  performed  with  great  zeal  and  enthusiasm, 
and  numberless  and  splendid  were  the  castles  which  they 
built  vrith  the  coming  money ;  yet,  alas !  when  the  pigs 
were  sold,  it  always  happened  that  Farmer  Fairthom  found 
some  inconvenient  debt  pressing  him,  and  the  boys'  pig- 
money  was  therefore  taken  as  a  loan,  —  only  as  a  loan,  — 
and  permanently  invested. 

TTiere  were  between  three  and  four  hundred  shocks  to 
husk,  and  the  young  men,  armed  with  husking-pegs  of  hick- 
ory, fastened  by  a  leathern  strap  over  the  two  middle  fin- 
gers, went  bravely  to  work.  Mark  Deane,  who  had  reached 
home  that  afternoon,  wore  the  seventy-five  dollars  in  a  buck- 
skin belt  around  his  waist,  and  anxiously  awaited  the  arrival 
of  Gilbert  Potter,  of  whose  adventure  he  had  already  heard 
Mark's  presumed  obligations  to  Alfred  Barton  prevented 
him  from  expressing  his  overpowering  contempt  for  that 
gentleman's  conduct,  but  he  was  not  obliged  to  hold  his 
tongue  about  Gilbert's  pluck  and  decision,  and  he  did  not. 

The  latter,  detained  at  the  house  by  Mother  Fairthom 
and  Sally,  —  both  of  whom  looked  upon  him  as  one  arisen 
from  the  dead,  —  did  not  reach  the  field  until  the  others 
had  selected  their  rows,  overturned  the  shocks,  and  were 
seated  in  a  rustling  line,  in  the  moonlight 

"  Gilbert ! "  shouted  Mark,  "  come  here  !  I  've  kep'  the 
row  next  to  mine,  for  you  I  And  I  want  to  get  a  grip  rf 
your  hand,  my  bold  boy  I " 


lis  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

He  sprang  up,  flinging  an  armful  of  stalks  behind  hiin, 
and  with  difficulty  restrained  an  impulse  to  clasp  Gilbert  tc 
his  broad  breast.  It  was  not  the  custom  of  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  the  noblest  masculine  friendship  would  have  beer 
described  by  the  people  in  no  other  terms  than  "  They  are 
very  thick,"  and  men  who  loved  each  other  were  accus- 
tomed to  be  satisfied  with  the  knowledge.  The  strong 
moonlight  revealed  to  Gilbert  Potter  the  honest  heart 
which  looked  out  of  Mark's  blue  eyes,  as  the  latter  held  hi" 
hand  like  a  vice,  and  said,  — 

"  I  've  heard  all  about  it." 

"  More  than  there  was  occasion  for,  very  likely,"  Gilber . 
replied.  "  I  '11  tell  you  my  story  some  day,  Mark ;  but  to- 
night we  must  work  and  not  talk." 

"  All  right,  Gilbert.  I  say,  though,  I  've  got  the  monej 
you  wanted  ;  we  '11  fix  the  matter  after  supper." 

The  rustling  of  the  corn-stalks  recommenced,  and  the 
tented  lines  of  shocks  slowly  fell  as  the  buskers  worked 
their  way  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  whence  the  ground 
sloped  down  into  a  broad  belt  of  shade,  cast  by  the  woods 
in  the  bottom.  Two  or  three  dogs  which  had  accompanied 
their  masters  coursed  about  the  field,  or  darted  into  the 
woods  in  search  of  an  opossum-trail.  Joe  and  Jake  Fair- 
thorn  would  gladly  have  followed  them,  but  were  afraid  of 
venturing  into  the  mysterious  gloom ;  so  they  amused 
tJiemselves  with  putting  on  the  coats  which  the  men  had 
lirown  aside,  and  gravely  marched  up  and  down  the  line, 
^mmending  the  rapid  and  threatening  the  tardy  workers. 

Erelong,  the  silence  was  broken  by  many  a  shout  of  ex- 
ultation or  banter,  many  a  merry  sound  of  jest  or  fun,  as 
the  back  of  the  night's  task  was  fairly  broken.  .  One  busker 
mimicked  the  hoot  of  an  owl  in  the  thickets  below ;  an* 
other  sang  a  melody  popular  at  the  time,  the  refrain  oi 
which  was, — 

*'  Be  it  late  or  early,  be  it  late  or  soon, 
|t  's  I  will  enjo^'  the  sweet  rose  in  JuQ9l  ** 


tHE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  819 

"  Sing  out,  boys  ! "  shouted  Mark,  "  so  the  gi  rls  can  heat 
jrou !     It 's  time  they  were  coinin'  to  look  after  us." 

"Sing,  yourself!  "  some  one  replied.  "  You  can  out-bel* 
low  the  whole  raft;." 

Without  more  ado,  Mark  opened  his  mouth  and  b^an 
chanting,  in  a  ponderous  voice,  — 

"  On  yonder  mountain  summit 
My  castle  you  will  find, 
Reno\ra'd  in  ann  cient  historee, — 
My  name  it  's  Rinardine !  " 

Presently,  from  the  upper  edge  of  the  wood,  several  fem 

Inine  voices  were  heard,  singing  another  part  of  the  same 

song:  — 

"  Beware  of  meeting  Rinar, 

All  on  the  mountains  high ! " 

Such  a  shout  of  fun  ran  over  the  field,  that  the  frighted 
owl  ceased  his  hooting  in  the  thicket  The  moon  stood 
high,  and  turned  the  night-haze  into  diffused  silver.  Though 
the  hollows  were  chill  with  gathering  frost,  the  air  was  stUl 
mild  and  dry  on  the  hills,  and  the  young  ladies,  in  their 
warm  gowns  of  home-made  flannel,  enjoyed  both  the  splen- 
dor of  the  night  and  the  lively  emulation  of  the  scattered 
laborers. 

"  Turn  to,  and  give  us  a  lift,  girls,"  said  Mark. 

"  Beware  of  meeting  Rinar  !  "  Sally  laughed. 

"  Because  you  know  what  you  promised  him,  Sally,"  he 
retorted.  "  Come,  a  bargain  's  a  bargain  ;  there  's  the  out- 
side row  standin'  —  not  enough  of  us  to  stretch  all  the  way 
acrost  the  field  —  so  let 's  you  and  me  take  that  and  bring 
it  down  square  with  th'  others.  The  rest  may  keep  my 
row  a-goin',  if  they  can." 

Two  or  three  of  the  other  maidens  had  cut  the  support- 
ing stalks  of  the  next  shock,  and  overturned  it  with  much 
laughing.  "  I  can't  husk,  Mark,"  said  Martha  Deane,  ''  bul 
I  '11  promise  to  superintend  these,  if  you  will  keep  Sally  to 
ber  word." 


214  THE  STORY  OP  KENxVETT. 

There  was  a  little  running  hither  and  thither,  a  show  of 
fight,  a  mock  scramble,  and  it  ended  by  Sally  tumbling 
over  a  pumpkin,  and  then  being  carried  off  by  Mark  to  the 
end  of  the  outside  row  of  shocks,  some  distance  in  the  rear 
of  the  line  of  work.  Here  he  laid  the  stalks  straight  for 
her,  doubled  his  coat  and  placed  it  on  the  ground  for  a 
seat,  and  then  took  his  place  on  the  other  side  of  the 
shock. 

Sally  husked  a  few  ears  in  silence,  but  presently  found  it 
more  agreeable  to  watch  her  partner,  as  he  bent  to  the 
labor,  ripping  the  covering  from  each  ear  with  one  or  two 
rapid  motions,  snapping  the  cob,  and  flinging  the  ear  over 
his  shoulder  into  the  very  centre  of  the  heap,  without  turn- 
ing his  head.  When  the  shock  was  finished,  there  were 
five  stalks  on  her  side,  and  fifty  on  Mark's. 

He  laughed  at  the  extent  of  her  help,  but,  seeing  how 
bright  and  beautiful  her  face  looked  in  the  moonlight,  how 
round  and  supple  her  form,  contrasted  with  his  own  rough 
proportions,  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  — 

"  Never  mind  the  work,  Sally  —  I  only  wanted  to  have 
you  with  me." 

Sally  was  silent,  but  happy,  and  Mark  proceeded  to  ov^er- 
throw  the  next  shock. 

When  they  were  again  seated  face  to  face,  he  no  longer 
bent  so  steadily  over  the  stalks,  but  lifted  his  head  now  and 
then  to  watch  the  gloss  of  the  moon  on  her  black  hair,  and 
the  mellow  gleam  that  seemed  to  slide  along  her  cheek  and 
chin,  playing  with  the  shadows,  as  she  moved. 

"  Sally  ! "  he  said  at  last,  "  you  must  ha'  seen,  over  and 
over  ag'in,  that  I  like  to  be  with  you.  Do  you  care  for  me, 
at  all  ? " 

She  flushed  and  trembled  a  little  as  she  answered,  — 
''  Yes,  Mark,  I  do." 

He  husked  half  a  dozen  ears  rapidly,  then  looked  up 
again  and  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  care  enough  for  me,  Sally,  to  take  me  for  good 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  S15 

and  all  ?  I  can't  put  it  into  fine  speech,  but  I  love  yon 
dearly  and  honestly ;  will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

Sally  bent  down  her  head,  so  choked  with  the  long-de- 
layed joy  that  she  foimd  it  impossible  to  speak.  Mark  fin- 
ished the  few  remaining  stalks  and  put  them  behind  him  ; 
he  sat  upon  the  ground  at  her  feet 

"Tliere  's  my  hand,  Sally;  will  you  take  it,  and  me  widi 
it?" 

Her  hand  slowly  made  its  way  into  his  broad,  hard  palm. 
Once  the  surrender  expressed,  her  confusion  vanished ;  she 
lifted  her  head  for  his  kiss,  then  leaned  it  on  his  shoulder 
and  whispered,  — 

"  Oh,  Mark,  I  've  loved  you  for  ever  and  ever  so  long  a 
time!" 

**  Why,  Sally,  deary,"  said  he,  "  that  's  my  case,  too ; 
and  1  seemed  to  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  we  was  to  be  a 
pair ;  only,  you  know,  I  had  to  get  a  foothold  first  I 
could  n't  come  to  you  with  empty  hands  —  though,  faith ! 
there  's  not  much  to  speak  of  in  'era  !  " 

"  Never  mind  that  Mark,  —  I  'm  so  glad  you  want  me  I  *" 

And  indeed  she  was ;  why  should  she  not,  therefore,  say 
so? 

"There  's  no  need  o*  broken  sixpences,  or  true-lovers* 
knots,  I  guess,"  said  Mark,  giving  her  another  kiss.  **  I  'm 
a  plain-spoken  fellow,  and  when  I  say  I  want  you  for  ray 
Mife,  Sally,  I  mean  it  But  we  must  n't  be  settin*  here, 
with  the  row  unhusked ;  that  '11  never  do.  See  if  I  don't 
make  the  ears  spin !  And  I  guess  you  can  help  me  a  little 
now,  can't  you  ?  " 

With  a  jolly  laugh,  Mark  picked  up  the  corn-cutter  and 
Bwung  it  above  the  next  shock.  In  another  instant  it  would 
have  fallen,  but  a  loud  shriek  burst  out  from  the  bundled 
stalks,  and  Joe  Fairthom  crept  forth  on  his  hands  and 
knees. 

The  lovers  stood  petrified.  "  Why,  you  young  devil  I " 
exclaimed  Mark,  while  the  single  word  "  Joe  ' "  which  came 


S16  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

from  Sally's  lips,  contained  the  concentrated  essence  <^  ■ 
thousand  slaps. 

«  Don't  —  don't !  "  whimpered  Joe.    « 1 1\  not  tell  anj 
body,  indeed  I  wont !  " 

"  If  you  do,"  threatened  Mark,  brandishing  the  corn-cut 
ter,  "  it  is  n't  your  legs  I  shall  cut  off,  but  your  head,  even 
with  the  shoulders.     What  were  you  doin'  in  that  shock  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  hear  what  you  and  Sally  were  sayin'  tr 
each  other.  Folks  said  you  two  was  a-courtin',"  Joe  an- 
swered. 

The  comical  aspect  of  the  matter  suddenly  struck  Mark, 
and  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Mark,  how  can  you  ?  "  said  Sally,  bridling  a  little. 

"  Well,  —  it 's  all  in  the  fam'ly,  after  all.  Joe,  tarnation 
scamp  as  he  is,  is  long-headed  enough  to  keep  his  mouth 
shut,  rather  than  have  people  laugh  at  his  relations  —  eh, 
Joe  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  'd  never  say  a  word,"  Joe  affirmed,  "  and  I 
won't.  You  see  if  I  even  tell  Jake.  But  I  say,  Mark, 
when  you  and  Sally  get  married,  will  you  be  my  uncle  ?  " 

"It  depends  on  your  behavior,"  Mark  gravely  answered, 
seating  himself  to  husk.  Joe  magnanimously  left  the 
lovers,  and  pitched  over  the  third  shock  ahead,  upon  which 
he  began  to  husk  with  might  and  main,  in  order  to  help 
them  out  with  their  task. 

By  the  time  the  outside  row  was  squared,  the  line  had 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  where  the  air  was  chill, 
although  the  shadows  of  the  forest  had  shifted  from  the 
field.  Then  there  was  a  race  among  the  buskers  for  the 
fence,  the  girls  promising  that  he  whose  row  was  first 
husked  out,  should  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  be 
called  King  of  the  Corn-field.  The  stalks  rustled,  the  cobs 
snapped,  the  ears  fell  like  a  shower  of  golden  cones,  and 
amid  much  noise  and  merriment,  not  only  the  victor's  row 
but  all  the  others  were  finished,  and  Farmer  Fairthom'i 
field  stood  husked  from  end  to  end. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  81? 

Gflbert  Potter  had  done  his  share  of  the  work  steadily, 
and  as  silently  as  the  curiosity  of  the  girls,  still  excited  by 
his  recent  adventure,  would  allow.  It  was  enough  for  him 
that  he  caught  a  chance  word,  now  and  then,  from  Martha. 
The  emulation  of  the  race  with  which  the  husking  closed 
fiivored  them,  and  he  gladly  lost  a  very  fair  chance  of  be- 
Ojming  King  of  the  Corn-field  for  the  opportunity  of  ask- 
iug  her  to  assist  him  in  contriving  a  brief  interview,  on  the 
■ay  to  the  house. 

Where  two  work  together  to  the  same  end,  there  is  no 
doubt  about  the  result,  especially  as,  in  this  case,  the  com- 
pany preferred  returning  through  the  wood  instead  of  cross- 
ing the  open,  high-fenced  fields.  When  they  found  them- 
selves together,  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  others,  Gilbert  lost 
no  time  in  relating  the  particulars  of  his  encounter  with 
Sandy  Flash,  the  discovery  he  had  made,  and  the  myste- 
rious assurance  of  Deb.  Smith. 

Martha  listened  with  the  keenest  interest  "  It  is  very, 
very  strange,"  she  said,  "  and  the  strangest  of  all  is  that  he 
should  be  that  man,  Fortime.  As  for  his  words,  I  do  not 
find  them  so  singular.  He  has  certainly  the  grandest 
courage,  robber  as  he  is,  and  he  admires  the  same  quality 
in  you ;  no  doubt  you  made  a  favorable  impression  upon 
him  on  the  day  of  the  fox-chase ;  and  so,  although  you 
are  hunting  him  down,  he  will  not  injure  you,  if  he  can 
help  it  I  find  all  that  very  natural,  in  a  man  of  his 
nature." 

"  But  Deb.  Smith  ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

"  That,"  said  Martha,  "  is  rather  a  curious  coincidence, 
but  nothing  more.  I  think.-  She  is  said  to  be  a  supersti- 
tious creature,  and  if  you  have  ever  befriended  her,  —  and 
you  may  have  done  so,  Gilbert  without  your  good  heart 
Ixiing  aware  of  it,  —  she  thinks  that  her  spells,  or  charms, 
or  what  not  will  save  you  from  harm.  No,  I  was  wrong ; 
it  is  not  so  very  strange,  except  Fortune's  intimacy  with 
Alfred  Barton,  which  everybody  was  talking  about  at  the 
time.** 


218  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Gilbert  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  How  the  darknesi 
of  his  new  fear  vanished,  in  the  light  of  Martha's  calm, 
sensible  words  !  "  How  wonderfully  you  have  guessed  the 
truth  ! "  he  cried.  "  So  it  is  ;  Deb.  Smith  thinks  she  is  be- 
holden to  me  for  kind  treatment ;  she  blew  upon  my  palm, 
in  a  mysterious  way,  and  said  she  would  stand  by  me  in 
time  of  need !  But  that  about  Fortune  puzzles  me.  I  can 
see  that  Barton  is  very  shy  of  me  since  he  thinks  I  've 
made  the  discovery." 

"  We  must  ask  Betsy  Lavender's  counsel,  there,"  said 
Martha.     "  It  is  beyond  my  depth." 

The  supper  smoked  upon  the  table  when  they  reached 
the  farm-house.  It  had  been  well  earned,  and  it  was  en- 
joyed, both  in  a  physical  and  a  social  sense,  to  the  very  ex- 
tent of  the  guests'  capacities.  The  King  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  Gilbert  Potter  —  forced  into  that  position 
by  Mark  —  at  the  foot.  Sally  Fairthom  insisted  on  per- 
forming her  duty  as  handmaiden,  although,  as  Betsy  Lav- 
ender again  and  again  declared,  her  room  was  better  than 
her  help.  Sally's  dark  eyes  fairly  danced  and  sparkled ; 
her  full,  soft  lips  shone  with  a  scarlet  bloom ;  she  laughed 
with  a  wild,  nervous  joyousness,  and  yet  rushed  about 
haunted  with  a  fearful  dread  of  suddenly  bursting  into 
tears.  Her  ways  were  so  w^U  known,  however,  that  a  little 
extra  impulsiveness  excited  no  surprise.  Martha  Deane 
was  the  only  person  who  discovered  what  had  taken  place. 
As  the  girls  were  putting  on  their  hats  and  cloaks  in  the 
bed-room,  Sally  drew  her  into  the  passage,  kissed  her  a 
number  of  times  with  passionate  vehemence,  and  then 
darted  off  without  saying  a  word. 

Gilbert  rode  home  through  the  splendid  moonlight,  in 
the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  with  a  light  heart,  and 
Mark's  money-belt  buckled  around  his  waist. 


rHE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  S18 


CHAPTER  XX. 

GILBERT   ON   THE   ROAD   TO   CHESTER. 

Being  now  fully  prepared  to  iindertake  his  journey  to 
Chester,  Gilbert  remembered  his  promise  to  Alfred  Barton. 
As  the  subject  had  not  again  been  mentioned  between 
them,  —  probably  owing  to  the  excitement  produced  by 
Sandy  Flash's  visit  to  Kennett  Square,  and  its  conse- 
quences, —  he  felt  bound  to  inform  Barton  of  his  speedy 
departure,  and  to  renew  his  offer  of  service. 

He  found  the  latter  in  the  field,  assisting  Giles,  who  was 
hauling  home  the  sheaves  of  corn-fodder  in  a  harvest- 
wagon.  The  first  meeting  of  the  two  men  did  not  seem 
to  be  quite  agreeable  to  either.  Gilbert's  suspicions  had 
been  aroused,  although  he  could  give  them  no  definite 
form,  and  Barton  shrank  from  any  reference  to  what  had 
now  become  a  very  sore  topic. 

"  Giles,"  said  the  latter,  after  a  moment  of  evident  em- 
barrassment, "  I  guess  you  may  drive  hojue  with  that  load, 
and  pitch  it  off ;  I  '11  wait  for  you  here." 

"When  the  rustling  wain  had  reached  a  convenient  dis- 
tance, Gilbert  began,  — 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say  that  I  'm  going  to  Chester  to- 
morrow." 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  Barton  exclaimed,  "  about  that  money  ?  I 
suppose  you  want  all  o'  yours  ?  " 

"It's  as  I  expected.  But  you  said  you  could  borrow 
elsewhere,  and  send  it  by  me." 

*'  The  fact  is,"  said  Barton,  "  that  I  *ve  both  borrowed 
•nd  sent    I'm  obliged  to  you,  all  the  same,  Gilbert;  the 


280  TH?  STORY  OF   KENNEtT. 

riill  's  as  good  as  the  deed,  you  know ;  but  I  got  the  monej 
from  —  well,  from  a  friend,  who  was  about  going  down  op 
his  own  business,  and  so  that  stone  killed  both  my  bird& 
r  ought  to  ha'  sent  you  word,  by  rights." 

"  Is  your  friend"  Gilbert  asked,  "  a  safe  and  truslj 
man?" 

"  Safe  enough,  I  guess  —  a  little  wild,  at  times,  maybe ; 
but  he  's  not  such  a  fool  as  to  lose  what  he  'd  never  have 
a  chance  of  getting  again." 

"  Then,"  said  Gilbert,  "  it 's  hardly  likely  that  he  's  the 
same  friend  you  took  such  a  fancy  to,  at  the  Haramer-and- 
Trowel,  last  spring  ?  " 

Alfred  Barton  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  and  a  deep 
color  spread  over  his  face.  His  lower  jaw  slackened  and 
his  eyes  moved  uneasily  from  side  to  side. 

"  Who  —  who  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  stammered. 

The  more  evident  his  embarrassment  became,  the  more 
Gilbert  was  confirmed  in  his  suspicion  that  there  was  some 
secret  understanding  between  the  two  men.  The  thing 
seemed  incredible,  but  the  same  point,  he  remembered 
had  occurred  to  Martha  Deane's  mind,  when  she  so  readily 
explained  the  other  circumstances. 

"  Barton,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  you  know  very  well  whom 
I  mean.  What  became  of  your  friend  Fortune  ?  Did  n't 
you  see  him  at  the  tavern,  last  Monday  morning  ? " 

"  Y-yes  —  oh,  yes  !  I  know  who  he  is  now^  the  damned 
scoundrel !  I  'd  give  a  hundred  dollars  to  see  him  dance 
ppon  nothing !  " 

He  clenched  his  fists,  and  uttered  a  number  of  other 
oaths,  which  need  not  be  repeated.  His  rage  seemed  sc 
real  that  Gilbert  was  again  staggered.  Looking  at  the 
heavy,  vulgar  face  before  him,  —  the  small,  restless  eyes, 
the  large  sensuous  mouth,  the  forehead  whose  very  extent, 
in  contradiction  to  ordinary  laws,  expressed  imbecility  rather 
than  intellect,  it  was  impossible  to  associate  great  cunning 
and  shrewdness  with  such  a  physiognomy.    Every  line,  at 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  221 

that  moment,  expressed  pain  and  exasperation.  But  Gil* 
bert  felt  bound  to  go  a  step  further. 

"  Barton,"  he  said,  "  did  n't  you  know  who  Fortune  was, 
on  that  day  ? " 

"N-no  —  no!     On  that  day  —  no!     Blast  me  if  I  did ! " 

**  Not  before  you  left  him  ?  " 

**  Well,  I  '11  admit  that  a  suspicion  of  it  came  to  me  at 
the  very  last  moment  —  too  late  to  be  of  any  use.  "*  But 
come,  damme  !  that 's  all  over,  and  what 's  the  good  o' 
talking  ?  Tou  tried  your  best  to  catch  the  fellow,  too,  but 
he  was  too  much  for  you  !     'T  is  n't  such  an  easy  job,  eh  ?  " 

This  sort  of  swagger  -vas  Alfred  Barton's  only  refuge, 
when  he  was  driven  into  a  corner.  Though  some  color 
still  lingered  in  his  face,  he  spread  his  shoulders  with  a 
bold,  almost  defiant  air,  and  met  Gilbert's  eye  with  a 
steady  gaze.  The  latter  was  not  prepared  to  carry  his 
examination  further,  although  he  was  stilJ  far  from  being 
satisfied. 

"  Come,  come,  Gilbert !  "  Barton  presently  resumed,  "  1 
mean  no  offence.  You  showed  yourself  to  be  true  blue, 
and  you  led  the  hunt  as  well  as  any  man  could  ha'  done ; 
but  the  very  thought  o'  the  fellow  makes  me  mad,  and  1 11 
know  no  peace  till  he  's  strung  up.  If  I  was  your  age, 
now  !  A  man  seems  to  lose  his  spirit  as  he  gets  on  in 
years,  and  I  'm  only  sorry  you  were  n't  made  captain  at 
the  start,  instead  o'  me.  You  shcUl  be,  from  this  time  on ; 
I  won't  take  it  again  !  " 

"  One  thing  I  '11  promise  you,"  said  Gilbert,  with  a  mean- 
ing look,  "  that  I  won't  let  him  walk  into  the  bar-room  of 
the  Unicorn,  without  hindrance." 

"I'll  bet  you  won't!"  Barton  exclaimed.  "All  I'm 
afraid  of  is,  that  he  won't  try  it  again." 

"  We  '11  see  ;  this  highway-robbery  must  have  an  end.  I 
must  now  be  going.     Good-bye  ! " 

"  Good-bye,  Gilbert ;  take  care  o'  yourself ! "  said  Bar* 
ton,  in  a  very  good  humor,  now  that  the  uncomfortable  in- 


222  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

terview  was  over.  "  And,  I  say,"  he  added,  "  remember  thai 
I  stand  ready  to  do  you  a  good  turn,  whenever  I  can  I " 

"Thauk  you!"  responded  Gilbert,  as  he  turned  Roger's 
head ;  but  he  said  to  himself,  — "  when  all  other  friends 
fail,  I  may  come  to  you,  not  sooner." 

The  next  morning  showed  signs  that  the  Indian  Sum- 
mer had  reached  its  close.  All  night  long  the  wind  had 
moaned  and  lamented  in  the  chimneys,  and  the  sense  of 
dread  in  the  outer  atmosphere  crept  into  the  house  and 
weighed  upon  the  slumbering  inmates.  There  was  a 
sound  in  the  forest  as  of  sobbing  Dryads,  waiting  for  the 
swift  death  and  the  frosty  tomb.  The  blue  haze  of  dreams 
which  had  ovei'spread  the  land  changed  into  an  ashy,  livid 
mist,  drasjjing  low,  and  clinmnor  to  the  features  of  the 
landscape  like  a  shroud  to  the  limbs  of  a  corpse. 

The  time,  indeed,  had  come  for  a  change.  It  was  the 
2nd  of  November  ;  and  after  a  summer  and  autumn  beau- 
tiful almost  beyond  parallel,  a  sudden  and  severe  winter 
was  generally  anticipated.  In  this  way,  even  the  most 
ignorant  field-hand  recognized  the  eternal  balance  of 
Nature. 

]\Iary  Potter,  although  the  day  had  arrived  for  which 
she  had  so  long  and  fervently  prayed,  could  not  shake  off 
the  depressing  influence  of  the  weather.  After  breakfast, 
when  Gilbert  began  to  make  preparations  for  the  journey, 
she  found  herself  so  agitated  that  it  was  with  difficulty  she 
could  give  him  the  usual  assistance.  The  money,  which 
was  mostly  in  silver  coin,  had  been  sewed  into  tight  rolls, 
and  was  now  to  be  carefully  packed  in  the  saddle-bags ; 
the  priming  of  the  pistols  was  to  be  renewed,  and  the  old, 
shrivelled  covers  of  the  holsters  so  greased,  hammered  out, 
and  padded  that  they  would  keep  the  weapons  dry  in  case 
of  rain.  Although  Gilbert  would  reach  Chester  that  even- 
ing, —  the  distance  being  not  more  than  twenty-four  miles, 
—  the  preparations,  principally  on  account  of  his  errand, 
were  conducted  with  a  grave  and  solemn  sense  of  the!/ 
importance. 


rUE  STORY    OF   KENNETT.  229 

When,  finally,  eventhing  was  in  readiness,  —  the  sad- 
dle-bags so  packed  that  the  precious  rolls  could  not  rub 
or  jingle  ;  the  dinner  of  sliced  bread  and  pork  placed  over 
them,  in  a  folded  napkin ;  the  pistols,  intended  more  for 
show  than  use,  thrust  into  the  antiquated  holsters ;  and 
all  these  deposited  and  secured  on  Roger's  back, —  Gilbert 
took  his  mother's  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  Good-bye,  mother !  Don't  worry,  now,  if  I  should  n*t 
-ret  back  until  late  to-morrow  evening ;  I  can't  tell  e-^actl) 
how  long  the  business  will  take." 

He  had  never  looked  more  strong  and  cheerful.  The 
tears  came  to  Mary  Potter's  eyes,  but  she  held  them  hack 
Dy  a  powerful  effort.  All  she  could  say  —  and  her  roice 
trembled  in  spite  of  herself —  was,  — 

"  Good-bye,  my  boy  !  Remember  that  I  've  worked,  and 
thought,  and  prayed,  for  you  alone,  —  and  that  I  'd  do 
more  —  I  'd  do  all,  if  I  only  could  !  " 

His  look  said  "  I  do  not  forget !  "  He  sat  already  in  the 
saddle,  and  was  straightening  the  folds  of  his  heavy  cloak 
so  that  it  might  protect  his  knees.  The  wind  had  arison, 
and  the  damp  mist  was  driving  down  the  glen,  mixed  with 
scattered  drops  of  a  coming  rain-storm.  As  he  rode  slowly 
away,  Mary  Potter  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  dense  gray  of  the 
sky,  darkening  from  moment  to  moment,  listened  to  the 
murmur  of  the  wind-  over  the  wooded  hills  opposite,  and 
clasped  her  hands  with  the  appealing  gesture  which  had 
now  become  habitual  to  her. 

"  Two  days  more  !  "  she  sighed,  as  she  entered  the  house, 
—  "  two  days  more  of  fear  and  prayer !  Lord  forgive  me 
that  I  am  so  weak  of  faith  —  that  I  make  myself  trouble 
where  I  ought  to  be  humble  and  thankful ! " 

Gilbert  rode  slowly,  because  he  feared  the  contents  of  his 
saddle-bags  would  be  disturbed  by  much  jolting.  Proof 
against  wind  and  weather,  he  was  not  troubled  by  the  at- 
mospheric signs,  but  rather  experienced  a  healthy  glow  and 
exhilaration  of  the  blood  as  the  mist  grew  thicker  and  bea^ 


224  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

upon  iiis  face  like  the  blown  spray  of  a  waterfall.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  the  Carson  farm,  the  sky  contracted  to 
a  low,  dark  arch  of  solid  wet,  in  which  theve  was  no  pasitive 
outline  of  cloud,  and  a  dull,  universal  roar,  shorn  of  all 
windy  sharpness,  hummed  over  the  land. 

From  the  hill  behind  the  farm-house,  whence  he  could 
overlook  the  bottom-lands  of  Redley  Creek,  and  easily 
descry,  on  a  clear  day,  the  yellow  front  of  Dr.  Deane's 
house  in  Kennett  Square,  he  now  beheld  a  dim  twilight 
chaos,  wherein  more  and  more  of  the  distance  was  blotted 
out  Yet  still  some  spell  held  up  the  suspended  rain,  and 
the  drops  that  fell  seemed  to  be  only  the  leakage  of  the 
airy  cisterns  before  they  burst  The  fields  on  either  hand 
were  deserted.  The  cattle  huddled  behind  the  stacks  or 
crouched  disconsolately  in  fence-corners.  Here  and  there 
a  farmer  made  haste  to  cut  and  split  a  supply  of  wood  for 
his  kitchen-fire,  or  mended  the  rude  roof  on  which  his  pigs 
depended  for  shelter ;  but  all  these  signs  showed  how  soon 
he  intended  to  be  snugly  housed,  to  bide  out  the  storm. 

It  was  a  day  of  no  uncertain  promise.  Gilbert  confessed 
to  himself,  before  he  reached  the  Philadelphia  road,  that 
he  would  rather  have  chosen  another  day  for  the  journey ; 
yet  the  thought  of  returning  was  farthest  from  his  mind. 
Even  when  the  rain,  having  created  its  little  pools  and 
sluices  in  every  hollow  of  the  ground,  took  courage,  and 
multiplied  its  careering  drops,  and  when  the  wet  gusts 
tore  open  his  cloak  and  tugged  at  his  dripping  hat,  he 
cheerily  shook  the  moisture  from  his  cheeks  and  eyelashes, 
patted  Roger's  streaming  neck,  and  whistled  a  bar  or  two 
of  an  old  carol. 

There  were  pleasant  hopes  enough  to  occupy  his  mind, 
without  dwelling  on  these  slight  external  annoyances.  He 
still  tried  to  believe  that  his  mother's  release  would  be 
hastened  by  the  independence  which  lay  folded  in  hia 
saddle-bags,  and  the  thud  of  the  wet  leather  against 
Roger's  hide  was  a  sound  to  cheer  away  any  momentarj 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETP.  2iS 

foreboding.  Then,  Martha  —  dear,  noble  girl !  She  was 
his ;  it  was  but  to  wait,  and  waiting  must  be  easy  when 
the  end  was  ceilain.  He  felt,  moreover,  that  in  spite  of 
his  unexplained  disgrace,  he  had  grown  in  the  respect  of 
his  neighbors  ;  that  his  persevering  integrity  was  beginning 
to  bring  its  reward,  and  he  thanked  God  verj-  gratefullj 
that  he  had  been  saved  from  adding  '^  his  name  any  stain 
of  his  own  making. 

In  an  hour  or  more  the  force  of  the  wind  somewhat 
abated,  but  the  sky  seemed  to  dissolve  into  a  massy  flood. 
The  rain  rushed  down,  not  in  drops,  but  in  sheets,  and  in 
spite  of  his  cloak,  he  was  wet  to  the  skin.  For  half  an 
hour  he  was  obliged  to  halt  in  the  wood  between  Old 
Kennett  and  Chadd's  Ford,  and  here  he  made  the  dis- 
covery that  with  all  his  care  the  holsters  were  nearly 
full  of  water.  Brown  streams  careered  down  the  long, 
meadowy  hollow  on  his  left,  wherein  many  Hessian  sol- 
diers lay  "buried.  There  was  money  buried  with  them,  the 
pyeople  believed,  but  no  one  cared  to  dig  among  the  dead 
at  midnight,  and  many  a  wild  tale  of  frighted  treasure- 
seekers  recurred  to  his  mind. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  long  hill  flowed  the  Brandywine, 
now  rolling  swift  and  turbid,  level  with  its  banks.  Roger 
bravely  breasted  the  flood,  and  after  a  little  struggle, 
reached  the  opposite  side.  Then  across  the  battle- 
meadow,  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm,  along  the  foot  of  the 
low  hill,  around  the  brow  of  which  the  entrenchments  of 
the  American  army  made  a  clayey  streak,  until  the  ill- 
fitted  field,  sown  with  grape-shot  and  bullets  which  the 
farmers  tunied  up  every  spring  with  their  furrows,  lay 
behind  him.  The  story  of  the  day  was  familiar  to  him, 
from  the  narratives  of  scores  of  eye-witnesses,  and  he 
thought  to  himself,  as  he  rode  onward,  wet,  lashed  by  the 
ftirioxis  rain,  yet  still  of  good  cheer,  —  "  Though  the  fight 
■ras  lost,  the  cause  was  won." 

After  leaving  the  lovely  lateral  valley  which  stretchca 
U 


226  THE  STORY   OF  KENNKTT. 

eastward  for  two  miles,  at  right  angles  to  the  course  cf  the 
Brandywine,  he  entered  a  rougher  and  wilder  region,  more 
thickly  wooded  and  deeply  indented  with  abrupt  glens. 
Thus  far  he  had  not  met  with  a  living  soul.  Chester  was" 
now  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  miles  distant,  and,  as 
nearly  as  he  could  guess,  it  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  With  the  best  luck,  he  could  barely  reach  his 
destination  by  nightfall,  for  the  rain  showed  no  signs  of 
abating,  and  there  were  still  several  streams  to  be  crossed. 

His  blood  leaped  no  more  so  nimbly  along  his  veins  ;  the 
continued  exposure  had  at  last  chilled  and  benumbed  him. 
Letting  the  reins  fall  upon  Roger's  neck,  he  folded  himself 
closely  in  his  wet  cloak,  and  bore  the  weather  with  a  grim, 
patient  endurance.  The  road  dropped  into  a  rough  glen, 
crossed  a  stony  brook,  and  then  wound  along  the  side  of  a 
thickly  wooded  hill.  On  his  right  the  bank  had  been  cut 
away  like  a  wall ;  on  the  left  a  steep  slope  of  tangled 
thicket  descended  to  the  stream. 

One  moment,  Gilbert  knew  that  he  was  riding  along 
this  road,  Roger  pressing  close  to  the  bank  for  shelter 
from  the  wind  and  rain  ;  the  next,  there  was  a  swift  and 
tremendous  grip  on  his  collar,  Roger  slid  from  under  him, 
and  he  was  hurled  backwards,  with  great  force,  upon  the 
ground.  Yet  even  in  the  act  of  falling,  he  seemed  to  be 
conscious  that  a  figure  sprang  down  upon  the  road  from 
the  bank  above. 

It  was  some  seconds  before  the  shock,  which  sent  a 
crash  through  his  brain  and  a  thousand  fiery  sparkles  into 
his  eyes,  passed  away.  Then  a  voice,  keen,  sharp,  and 
determined,  which  it  seemed  that  he  knew,  exclaimed, — 

"  Danm  the  beast !  I  '11  have  to  shoot  him." 

Lifting  his  head  with  some  difficulty,  for  he  felt  weali 
and  giddy,  and  propping  himself  on  his  arm,  he  saw  Sandy 
Flash  in  the  road,  three  or  four  paces  off,  fronting  Roger 
who  had  whirled  around,  and  with  levelled  ears  and  fierj 
eyes,  seemed  to  be  meditating  an  attack. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEXNETT.  22? 

The  robber  wore  a  short  overcoat,  made  entirely  of 
musk-rat  skins,  which  completely  protected  the  arms  in 
Lis  belt  He  had  a  large  hunting-knife  in  his  left;  hand, 
and  appeared  to  be  feeling  with  his  right  for  the  stock  of 
a  pistol.  It  seemed  to  Gilbert  that  nothing  but  the  sin- 
gular force  of  his  eye  held  back  the  horse  from  rushing 
upon  him, 

"  Keep  as  you  are,  young  man !  *  he  cried,  without 
turning  his  head,  "  or  a  bullet  goes  into  your  horse's  brain. 
I  know  the  beast,  and  don't  want  to  see  him  slaughtered. 
\i  you  don't,  order  him  to  be  quiet !  " 

Gilbert,  although  he  knew  every  trait  of  the  noble 
animal's  nature  better  than  those  of  many  a  huinan  ac- 
quaintance, was  both  surprised  and  touched  at  the  instinct 
with  which  he  had  recognized  an  enemy,  and  the  fierce 
courage  with  which  he  stood  on  the  defensive.  In  that 
moment  of  bewilderment,  he  thought  only  of  Roger,  whose 
life  hung  by  a  thread,  which  his  silence  would  instantly 
snap.  He  might  have  seen  —  had  there  been  time  for 
reflection  —  that  nothing  would  have  been  gained,  in  an^ 
case,  by  the  animal's  death ;  for,  stunned  and  unarmed  as 
he  was,  he  was  no  match  for  the  powerful,  wary  highway- 
man. 

Obeying  the  feeling  which  entirely  possessed  him,  he 
cried,  — ''  Roger !  Roger,  old  boy  ! " 

The  horse  neighed  a  shrill,  glad  neigh  of  recognition, 
and  pricked  up  his  ears.  Sandy  Flash  stood  motionless; 
he  had  let  go  of  his  pistol,  and  concealed  the  knife  in  a 
fold  of  his  coat. 

*•  Quiet,  Roger,  quiet !  "  Gilbert  again  commanded. 

The  animal  understood  the  tone,  if  not  the  words.  He 
seemed  completely  reassured,  and  advanced  a  step  or  two 
nearer.  With  the  utmost  swiftness  and  dexterity,  com- 
bined with  an  astonishing  gentleness,  —  ma'King  no  gesture 
which  might  excite  Roger's  suspicion, —  Sandy  Flash  thrust 
his  hand  into  the  holsters,  smiled  mockingly,  cut  the  straps 


228  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 

of  the  saddle-bags  with  a  single  movement  of  his  keeu 
edged  knife,  tested  the  weight  of  the  bags,  nodded,  grinned, 
and  then,  stepping  aside,  he  allowed  the  horse  to  pass  him. 
But  he  watched  every  motion  of  the  head  and  ears,  as  be 
did  so. 

Roger,  however,  seemed  to  think  only  of  his  master. 
Bending  down  his  head,  he  snorted  warmly  into  Gilbert's 
pale  face,  and  then  swelled  his  sides  with  a  deep  breath 
of  satisfaction.  Tears  of  shame,  grief,  and  rage  swam  in 
Gilbert's  eyes.  '*  Roger,"  he  said,  "  I  've  lost  everything 
but  you  ! " 

He  staggered  to  his  feet  and  leaned  against  the  bank. 
The  extent  of  his  loss  —  the  hopelessness  of  its  recovery 
— the  impotence  of  his  burning  desire  to  avenge  the  out- 
rage—  overwhelmed  him.  The  highwayman  still  stood, 
a  few  paces  off,  watching  him  with  a  grim  curiosity. 

With  a  desperate  effort,  Gilbert  turned  towards  him. 
"  Sandy  Flash,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  know  what  you  are 
doing  ?  " 

"I  rather  guess  so,"  —  and  the  highwayman  grinned. 
"I've  done  it  before,  but  never  quite  so  neatly  as  this 
time." 

"  I  've  heard  it  said,  to  your  credit,"  Gilbert  continued 
"  that,  though  you  rob  the  rich,  you  sometimes  give  to  the 
poor.     This  time  you  've  robbed  a  poor  man." 

"  I  've  only  borrowed  a  little  from  one  able  to  spare  a 
good  deal  more  than  I  've  got,  —  and  the  grudge  I  owe 
him  is  n't  paid  off  yet." 

*'  It  is  not  so  !  "  Gilbert  cried.  "  Every  cent  has  been 
earned  by  my  own  and  my  mother's  hard  work.  I  was 
taking  it  to  Chester,  to  pay  off  a  debt  upon  the  farm  ;  and 
the  loss  and  the  disappointment  will  wellnigh  break  my 
mother's  heart.  According  to  your  views  of  things,  you 
owe  me  a  grudge,  but  you  are  outside  of  the  law,  and  I 
did  my  duty  as  a  lawful  man  by  trying  to  shoot  yon !  " 

''  And  I,  hein'  outside  o'  the  law,  as  you  say,  have  let  yoij 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  22S 

off  mighty  easy,  young  man  I "  exclaimed  Sandy  Flash,  his 
eyes  shining  angrily  and  his  teeth  glittering.  "  I  took  you 
for  a  fellow  o'  pluck,  not  for  one  that  'd  lie,  even  to  the 
robber  they  call  me  !  What 's  all  this  pitiful  story  about 
Barton's  money  ?  " 

"  Barton's  money  !  " 

"Oh  —  ay !  You  did  n't  agree  to  take  some  o  his 
money  to  Chester  ? "  The  mocking  expression  on  the 
highwayman's  face  was  perfectly  diabolical.  He  slung 
the  saddle-bags  over  his  shoulders,  and  turned  to  leave. 

Gilbert  was  so  amazed  that  for  a  moment  he  knew  not 
what  to  say.  Sandy  Flash  took  three  strides  up  the  road, 
and  then  sprang  down  into  the  thicket. 

"  It  is  not  Barton's  money  !  "  Gilbert  cried,  with  a  last 
desperate  appeal, — "  it  is  mine,  mine  and  my  mother's !  ** 

A  short,  insulting  laugh  was  the  only  answer. 

"  Sandy  Flash  !  "  he  cried  again,  raising  his  voice  almost 
to  a  shout,  as  the  crashing  of  the  robber's  steps  through 
the  brushwood  sounded  farther  and  farther  down  the  glen, 
"  Sandy  Flash !  You  have  plundered  a  widow's  honest 
earnings  to-day,  and  a  curse  goes  with  such  plunder! 
Hark  you !  if  never  before,  you  are  cursed  from  this  hour 
forth  !  I  call  upon  God,  in  my  mother's  name,  to  mark 
you ! " 

There  was  no  sound  in  reply,  except  the  dull,  dreary 
hum  of  the  wind  and  the  steady  lashing  of  the  rain.  The 
growing  darkness  of  the  sky  told  of  approaching  night 
and  the  wild  glen,  bleak  enough  before,  was  now  a  scene 
of  utter  and  hopeless  desolation  to  Gilbert's  eyes.  He  was 
almost  unmanned,  not  only  by  the  cruel  loss,  but  also  b\ 
the  stinging  sense  of  outrage  which  it  had  left  behind,  A 
mixed  feeling  of  wretched  despondency  and  shame  filled 
his  heart,  as  he  leaned,  chill,  weary,  and  still  weak  from  the 
shock  of  his  fall,  upon  Roger's  neck. 

The  faithful  animal  turned  h^  head  from  time  to  time, 
••  if  to  question  his  master's  unusual  demeanor.    There 


230  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

was  a  look  of  almost  human  sympathy  in  his  large  eyes, 
he  was  hungry  and  restless,  yet  would  not  move  until  the 
word  of  command  had  been,  given. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Gilbert,  patting  his  cheek,  "  we  've 
both  fared  ill  to-day.  But  you  must  n't  suffer  any  longer 
for  my  sake." 

He  then  moimted  and  rode  onward  through  the  storm. 


TifE  STOBT  OF  KENNETT.  281 


CHAPTER  XXL 

ROGER    REPAYS    HIS    UASTiEB. 

A  MILE  or  more  beyond  the  spot  where  Gilbert  Potter 
had  been  waylaid,  there  was  a  lonely  tavern,  called  the 
**  Drovers'  Inn."  Here  he  dismounted,  more  for  his  horse's 
sake  than  his  own,  although  he  was  sore,  weary,  and  sick  of 
heart.  After  having  carefully  groomed  Roger  with  his  own 
hands,  and  commended  him  to  the  special  attentions  of  ihe 
ostler,  he  entered  the  warm  public  room,  wherein  three  or 
four  storm-bound  drovers  were  gathered  around  the  roaring 
fire  of  hickory  logs. 

The  men  kindly  made  way  for  the  pale,  dripping, 
wretched-looking  stranger ;  and  the  landlord,  with  a  shrewd 
glance  and  a  suggestion  of  "  Something  hot,  I  reckon?" 
began  mixing  a  compoxmd  proper  for  the  occasion.  Laying 
aside  his  wet  cloak,  which  was  sent  to  the  kitchen  to  be 
more  speedily  dried,  Gilbert  presently  sat  in  a  cloud  of  his 
own  steaming  garments,  and  felt  the  warmth  of  the  potent 
liquor  in  his  chilly  blood. 

All  at  once,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  highwayman  had 
not  touched  his  person.  There  was  not  only  some  loose 
silver  in  his  pockets,  but  Mark  Deane's  money-belt  was 
still  around  his  waist  So  much,  at  least,  was  rescued,  and 
he  began  to  pluck  up  a  little  courage.  Should  he  continue 
his  journey  to  Chester,  explain  the  misfortune  to  the  holder 
of  his  mortgage,  and  give  notice  to  the  County  Sheriff  of 
this  new  act  of  robbery  ?  Then  the  thought  came  into  his 
mind  that  in  that  case  he  might  be  detained  a  day  or  two, 
in  order  to  make  depositions,  or  comply  with  seme  unknovn 


iSi  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

legal  fomi.  In  the  mean  time  the  news  would  spread  ovef 
the  country,  no  doubt  with  many  exaggerations,  and  might 
possibly  reach  Kennett  —  even  the  ears  of  his  mother. 
That  reflection  decided  his  course.  She  must  first  hear 
the  truth  from  his  mouth ;  he  would  try  to  give  her  cheer 
and  encouragement,  though  he  felt  none  himself;  then, 
calling  his  friends  together,  he  would  hunt  Sandy  Flash 
like  a  wild  beast  until  they  had  tracked  him  to  his  lair. 

"  Unlucky  weather  for  ye,  it  seems  ?  "  remarked  the  curi- 
ous landlord,  who,  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace,  had 
for  full  ten  minutes  been  watching  Gilbert's  knitted  brows, 
gloomy,  brooding  eyes,  and  compressed  lips. 

"  Weather  ?  "  •  he  exclaimed,  bitterly.  "  It  's  not  the 
weather.  Landlord,  will  you  have  a  chance  of  sending  to 
Chester  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  'ra  going,  if  it  clears  up,"  said  one  of  the  drovers. 

"  Then,  my  friend,"  Gilbert  continued,  "  will  you  take  a 
letter  from  me  to  the  Sheriff?" 

"  If  it 's  nothing  out  of  the  way,"  the  man  replied. 

"  It 's  in  the  proper  course  of  law  —  if  there  is  any  law 
to  protect  us.  Not  a  mile  and  a  half  from  here,  landlord, 
I  have  been  waylaid  and  robbed  on  the  public  road  ! " 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  Gil- 
bert's story,  which  he  had  suddenly  decided  to  relate,  m 
order  that  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  might  be  put 
upon  their  guard,  was  listened  to  with  an  interest  only  less 
than  the  terror  which  it  inspired.  The  landlady  rushed 
into  the  bar  room,  followed  by  the  red-faced  kitchen  wench, 
and  both  interrupted  the  recital  with  cries  of  "  Dear,  dear ! " 
and  "  Lord  save  us !  "  The  landlord,  meanwhile,  had  pre- 
pared another  tumbler  of  hot  and  hot,  and  brought  it  for- 
ward, saying,  — 

"  You  need  it,  the  Lord  knows,  and  it  shall  cost  you 
nothing." 

"  What  I  most  need  now,"  Gilbert  said,  "  is  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  to  write  out  my  account    Then  I  suppose  yov 


THE  STORY  OF   KEKNETT.  233 

can  get  me  up  a  cold  check  *  for  I  must  start  homewards 
soon." 

"  Not '  a  cold  check '  after  all  that  drenching  and  mis- 
handling !  "  the  landlord  exclaimed.  "  We  '11  have  a  hot 
supper  in  half  an  hour,  and  you  shall  stay,  and  welcome. 
Wife,  bring  down  one  of  Liddy's  pens,  the  schoolmaster 
made  for  her,  and  put  a  little  vinegar  into  th'  ink-bottle ; 
it 's  most  dried  up  ! " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  necessary  materials  for  a  letter,  all 
of  the  rudest  kind,  were  supplied,  and  the  landlord  and 
drovers  hovered  around  as  Gilbert  began  to  write,  assisting 
him  with  the  most  extraordinary  suggestions, 

"  I  'd  threaten,"  said  a  drover,  "  to  write  straight  to  Gren- 
eral  Washington,  unless  they  promise  to  catch  the  scoun- 
drel in  no  time  !  " 

"  And  don't  forget  thp  knife  and  pistol !  "  cried  the  land- 
lord. 

"And  say  the  Tory  farmers'  houses  ought  to  be 
searched ! " 

"  And  give  his  marks,  to  a  hair  ! " 

Amid  all  this  confusion,  Gilbert  managed  to  write  a  brief, 
but  sufficiently  circumstantial  account  of  the  robbery,  call- 
ing upon  the  County  authorities  to  do  their  part  in  effect- 
ing the  capture  of  Sandy  Flash.  He  offered  his  services 
and  those  of  the  Kennett  troop,  announcing  that  he  should 
immediately  start  upon  the  hunt,  and  expected  to  be  sec- 
onded by  the  law. 

When  the  letter  had  been  sealed  and  addressed,  the 
drovers  —  some  of  whom  carried  money  with  them,  and 
had  agreed  to  travel  in  company,  for  better  protection  — 
eagerly  took  charge  o*"  it,  promising  to  back  the  delivery 
with  very  energetic  demands  for  assistance. 

Night  had  fallen,  and  the  rain  fell  with  it,  in  renewed 
torrents.  The  dreary,  universal  hum  of  the  storm  ro8« 
•gain,  making  all  accidental  sounds  of  life  impertinent,  in 
*  A  local  tenn,  in  aae  at  the  time,  .lignifying  a  "  limdi." 


284  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

contrast  with  its  deep,  tremendous  monotone.  The  win- 
dows shivered,  the  walls  sweat  and  streamed,  and  the  wild 
wet  blew  in  under  the  doors,  as  if  besieging  that  refuge  ai 
warm,  red  fire-light 

"  This  beats  the  Lammas  flood  o'  '68,"  said  the  landlord, 
as  he  led  the  way  to  supper.     "  I  was  a  young  man  at  the 
time,  and  remember  it  well.     Half  the  dams  on  Brandy 
wine  went  that  night" 

After  a  bountiful  meal,  Gilbert  completely  dried  his  gar- 
ments and  prepared  to  set  out  on  his  return,  resisting  the 
kindly  persuasion  of  the  host  and  hostess  that  he  should 
stay  all  night  A  restless,  feverish  energy  filled  his  fram.e. 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  sleep,  that  to  wait  idly  would  be 
simple  misery,  and  that  only  in  motion  towards  the  set  aim 
of  his  fierce,  excited  desires,  could  he  bear  his  disappoint- 
ment and  shame.  Hut  the  rain  still  came  down  with  a  vol- 
ume which  threatened  soon  to  exhaust  the  cisterns  of  the 
air,  and  in  that  hope  he  compelled  himself  to  wait  a  little. 

Towards  nine  o'clock  the  great  deluge  seemed  to  slacken. 
Tlie  wind  arose,  and  there  were  signs  of  its  shifting,  ere- 
long, to  the  northwest,  which  would  bring  clear  weather 
in  a  few  hours.  The  night  was  dark,  but  not  pitchy ;  a 
dull  phosphoric  gleam  overspread  the  imder  surface  of  the 
sky.  The  woods  were  full  of  noises,  and  every  gully  at 
the  roadside  gave  token,  by  its  stony  rattle,  of  the  rain- 
born  streams. 

"With  his  face  towards  home  and  his  back  to  the  storm, 
Gilbert  rode  into  the  night  The  highway  was  but  a  streak 
of  less  palpable  darkness ;  the  hills  on  either  hand  scarcely 
detached  themselves  from  the  low,  black  ceiling  of  sky  be- 
hind them.  Sometimes  the  light  of  a  farm-house  window 
sparkled  faintly,  like  a  glow-worm,  but  whether  far  or  near, 
he  could  not  tell ;  he  only  knew  how  blest  must  be  the 
owner,  sitting  with  wife  and  children  around  his  secure 
hearthstone,  —  how  wretched  his  own  life,  cast  adrift  in  th« 
darkness,  —  wife,  home,  and  future,  things  of  doubt  I 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  23S 

He  had  lost  more  than  money ;  and  his  wretchednes* 
will  not  seem  unmanly  when  we  remember  the  steady 
strain  and  struggle  of  his  previous  life.  As  there  is  noth- 
ing more  stimulating  to  human  patience,  and  courage,  and 
energy,  than  the  certain  prospect  of  relief  at  the  end,  so 
there  is  nothing  more  depressing  than  to  see  that  relief 
suddenly  snatched  away,  and  the  same  round  of  toil  thrust 
again  imder  one's  feet !  This  is  the  fate  of  Tantalus  and 
Sisyphus  in  one. 

Not  alone  the  money;  a  year,  or  two  years,  of  labor 
would  no  doubt  replace  what  he  had  lost  But  he  had 
seen,  in  imagination,  his  mother's  feverish  anxiety  at  an 
end ;  hoasehold  help  procured,  to  lighten  her  over-heavy 
toil ;  the  f>ossibiIity  of  her  release  from  some  terrible  obli- 
gation brought  nearer,  as  he  hoped  and  trusted,  and  with  it 
the  strongest  barrier  broken  down  which  rose  between  him 
and  Martha  Deane.  All  these  things  which  he  had,  as  it 
were,  held  in  his  hand,  had  been  stolen  from  him,  and  the 
loss  was  bitter  because  it  struck  down  to  tlie  roots  ol  ihe 
sweetest  and  strongest  fibres  of  his  heart.  The  night 
veiled  his  face,  but  if  some  hotter  drops  than  those  of  the 
stonn  were  shaken  from  his  cheek,  they  left  no  stain  upon 
his  manhood. 

The  sense  of  outrage,  of  personal  indignity,  which  no 
man  can  appreciate  who  has  not  himself  been  violently 
plundered,  added  its  sting  to  his  miserable  mood.  He 
thirsted  to  avenge  the  wrong ;  Barton's  words  involuntarily 
came  back  to  him,  —  "  I  '11  know  no  peace  till  the  %nllain 
has  been  strung  up  !  "  Barton !  How  came  Sandy  Flash 
to  know  that  Barton  intended  to  send  money  by  him  ? 
Had  not  Barton  himself  declared  that  the  matter  should 
be  kept  secret  ?  Was  there  some  complicity  between  the 
latter  and  Sandy  Flash  ?  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
seemed  that  the  highwayman  believed  that  he  was  robbing 
Gilbert  of  Barton's  money.  Here  was  an  enigma  which 
he  could  not  solve. 


236  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

All  at  once,  a  hideous  solution  presented  itself.  Was  it 
possible  that  Barton's  money  was  to  be  only  apparenti^ 
stolen  —  in  reality  returned  to  him  privately,  afterwards  ? 
Possibly  the  rest  of  the  plunder  divided  between  the  two 
confederates  ?  Gilbert  was  not  in  a  charitable  mood  ;  the 
human  race  was  much  more  depraved,  in  his  view,  than 
twelve  hours  before ;  and  the  inference  which  he  would 
have  rejected  as  monstrous,  that  very  morning,  now  as- 
sumed a  possible  existence.  One  thing,  at  least,  was  cer- 
tain ;  he  would  exact  an  explanation,  and  if  none  should 
be  furnished,  he  would  make  public  the  evidence  in  his 
hands. 

The  black,  dreary  night  seemed  interminable.  He 
could  only  guess,  here  and  there,  at  a  landmark,  and  was 
forced  to  rely  more  upon  Roger's  instinct  of  the  road  than 
upon  the  guidance  of  his  senses.  Towards  midnight,  as 
he  judged,  by  the  solitary  crow  of  a  cock,  the  rain  almost 
entirely  ceased.  The  wind  began  to  blow,  sharp  and  keen, 
and  the  hard  vault  of  the  sky  to  lifl  a  little.  He  fancied 
that  the  hills  on  his  right  had  fallen  away,  and  that  the 
horizon  was  suddenly  depressed  towards  the  north.  Roger's 
feet  began  to  splash  in  constantly  deepening  water,  and 
presently  a  roar,  distinct  from  that  of  the  wind,  filled  the 
air. 

It  was  the  Brandywine.  The  stream  had  overflowed  its 
broad  meadow-bottoms,  and  was  running  high  and  fierce 
beyond  its  main  channel.  The  turbid  waters  made  a  dim, 
dusky  gleam  around  him  ;  soon  the  fences  disappeared, 
and  the  flood  reached  to  his  horse's  belly.  But  he  knew 
that  the  ford  could  be  distinguished  by  the  break  in  the 
fringe  of  timber ;  moreover,  that  the  creek-bank  was  a  little 
higher  than  the  meadows  behind  it,  and  so  far,  at  least,  he 
might  venture.  The  ford  was  not  more  than  twenty  yards 
across,  and  he  could  trust  Roger  to  swim  that  distance. 

The  faithful  animal  pressed  bravely  on,  but  Gilbert 
lOOQ  noticed  that  he  seemed  at  fault.    The  swifl  water  had 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  237 

5)rced  him  out  of  the  road,  and  he  stopped,  from  time  to 
time,  as  if  anxious  and  uneasy.  Tlie  timber  coiJd  now  be 
discerned,  only  a  short  distance  in  advance,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  would  gain  the  bank. 

What  was  that  ?  A  strange  rustling,  hissing  sound,  as 
of  cattle  trampling  through  dry  reeds,  —  a  sound  which 
quivered  and  shook,  even  in  the  breath  of  the  hurrying 
wind !  Roger  snorted,  stood  still,  and  trembled  in  every 
limb ;  and  a  sensation  of  awe  and  terror  struck  a  chill 
through  Gilbert's  heart.  The  sound  drew  swiftly  nearer, 
and  became  a  wild,  seething  roar,  filling  the  whole  breadth 
of  the  valley. 

"  Great  God  !  "  cried  Gilbert,  "  the  dam  !  —  the  dam  has 
given  way  ! "  He  turned  Roger's  head,  gave  him  the  rein, 
struck,  spurred,  cheered,  and  shouted.  The  brave  beast 
struggled  through  the  impeding  flood,  but  the  advance  wave 
of  the  coming  inundation  already  touched  his  side.  He 
staggered  ;  a  line  of  churning  foam  bore  down  upon  them, 
the  terrible  roar  was  all  around  and  over  them,  and  horse 
and  rider  were  whirled  away. 

What  happened  during  the  first  few  seconds,  Gilbert 
could  never  distinctly  recall.  Now  they  were  whelmed  in 
the  water,  now  riding  its  careering  tide,  torn  through  the 
tops  of  brushwood,  jostled  by  floating  logs  and  timbers  of 
the  dam-breast,  but  always,  as  it  seemed,  remorselessly  held 
in  the  heart  of  the  tumult  and  the  ruin. 

He  saw,  at  last,  that  they  had  fallen  behind  the  furious 
onset  of  the  flood,  but  Roger  was  still  swimming  with  it, 
desperately  throwing  up  his  head  from  time  to  time,  and 
snorting  the  water  from  his  nostrils.  All  his  efforts  to 
gain  a  foothold  failed  ;  his  strength  was  nearly  spent,  and 
unless  some  help  should  come  in  a  few  minutes,  it  would 
come  in  vain.  And  in  the  darkness,  and  the  rapidity  with 
which  they  were  borne  along,  how  should  help  come  ? 

All  at  once,  Roger's  course  stopped.  He  became  an  ob- 
stacle to  the  flood,  which  pressed  him  against  some  other 


238  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 

obstacle  below,  and  rushed  over  horse  and  rider.  Thrust- 
ing out  his  hand,  Gilbert  felt  the  rough  bark  of  a  tree. 
Leaning  towards  it  and  clasping  the  log  in  his  arms,  he 
drew  himself  from  the  saddle,  while  Roger,  freed  from  hia 
burden,  struggled  into  the  current  and  instantly  disap- 
peared. 

As  nearly  as  Gilbert  could  ascertain,  several  timbers, 
thrown  over  each  other,  had  lodged,  probably  upon  a  rocky 
islet  in  the  stream,  the  uppermost  one  projecting  slantingly 
out  of  the  flood.  It  required  all  his  strength  to  resist  the 
current  which  sucked,  and  whirled,  and  tugged  at  his  body, 
and  to  climb  high  enough  to  escape  its  force,  without  over- 
balancing his  support.  At  last,  though  still  half  immerged, 
he  found  himself  comparatively  safe  for  a  time,  yet  as  far 
as  ever  from  a  final  rescue. 

lie  must  await  the  dawn,  and  an  eternity  of  endurance 
lay  in  those  few  hours.  Meantime,  perhaps,  the  creek 
would  fall,  for  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  there  were  outlines 
of  moving  cloud  in  the  sky.  It  was  the  night  which  made 
his  situation  so  terrible,  by  concealing  the  chances  of 
escape.  At  first,  he  thought  most  of  Roger.  Was  Iris 
brave  horse  drowned,  or  had  he  safely  gained  the  bank 
below  ?  Then,  as  the  desperate  moments  went  by,  and  tlw 
chill  of  exposure  and  the  fatigue  of  exertion  began  to 
creep  over  him,  his  mind  reverted,  with  a  bitter  sweetness, 
a  mixture  of  bliss  and  agony,  te  the  two  beloved  women  to 
whom  his  life  belonged,  —  the  life  which,  alas  !  he  could 
not  now  call  his  own,  to  give. 

He  tried  to  fix  his  thoughts  on  Death,  to  commend  his 
soxd  to  Divine  Mercy  ;  but  every  prayer  shaped  itself  into 
an  appeal  that  he  might  once  more  see  the  dear  faces  and 
hear  the  dear  voices.  In  the  great  shadow  of  the  fate 
which  hung  over  him,  the  loss  of  his  property  became  as 
dust  in  the  balance,  and  his  recent  despair  smote  him  with 
shame.  He  no  longer  fiercely  protested  against  the  inju- 
ries of  fortune,  but  entreated  pardon  and  pity  for  the  sake 
of  his  love. 


THK  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  23  & 

Tim  clouds  rolled  into  distincter  masses,  and  the  north- 
west  wind  still  luiiited  them  across  the  sky,  until  there 
came,  first  a  tiny  rill  for  a  star,  then  a  gap  for  a  whole  con- 
stellation, and  finally  a  broad  burst  of  moonlight.  Gilbert 
now  saw  that  the  timber  to  which  he  clunjj  was  lodged 
nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  channel,  as  the  water  swept 
with  equal  force  on  either  side  of  him.  Beyond  the  banks 
there  was  a  wooded  hill  on  the  left ;  on  the  right  an  over- 
flowed meadow.  He  was  too  weak  and  benumbed  to  trust 
himself  to  the  flood,  but  he  imagined  that  it  was  beginning 
to  subside,  and  therein  lay  his  only  hope. 

Yet  a  new  danger  now  assailed  him,  from  the  increasing 
cold.  There  was  already  a  sting  of  frost,  a  breath  of  ice, 
in  the  wind.  In  another  hom*  the  sky  was  nearly  swept 
bare  of  clouds,  and  he  could  note  the  lapse  of  the  night  by 
the  sinking  of  the  moon.  But  he  was  by  this  time  hardly 
in  a  condition  to  note  anything  more.  He  had  thrown 
himself,  face  downwards,  on  the  top  of  the  log,  his  arms 
mechanically  clasping  it,  while  his  mind  sank  into  a  state 
of  torpid,  passive  suffering,  growing  nearer  to  the  dreamy 
indifference  which  precedes  death.  His  cloak  had  been 
torn  away  in  the  first  rush  of  the  inundation,  and  the  wet 
coat  began  to  stiffen  in  the  wind,  from  the  ice  gathering 
over  it. 

The  moon  was  low  in  the  west,  and  there  was  a  pale 
glimmer  of  the  coming  dawn  in  the  sky,  when  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter suddenly  raised  his  head.  Above  the  noise  of  the 
water  and  the  whistle  of  the  wind,  he  heard  a  familiar 
sound,  —  the  shrill,  sharp  neigh  of  a  horse.  Lifting  him- 
self, with  gi'eat  exertion,  to  a  sitting  posture,  he  saw  two 
men,  on  horseback,  in  the  flooded  meadow,  a  little  below 
him.  They  stopped,  seemed  to  consult,  and  presently  drew 
nearer. 

Gilbert  tried  to  shout,  but  the  muscles  of  his  throat  were 
fctiff*,  and  his  lungs  refused  to  act  The  horse  neighed 
again.    This  time  there  was  no  mistake ;  it  was  Roger  that 


240  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

he  heard !     Voice  came  to  him,  and  he  cried  aloud,  -—  ii 
hoarse,  strange,  unnatural  cry. 

The  horsemen  heard  it,  and  rapidly  pushed  up  the  bank, 
until  they  reached  a  point  directly  opposite  to  him.  The 
prospect  of  escape  brought  a  thrill  of  life  to  his  frame ;  he 
looked  around  and  saw  that  the  flood  had  indeed  fallen. 

"  We  have  no  rope,"  he  heard  one  of  the  men  say. 
"  How  sliall  we  reach  him  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  time  to  get  one,  now,"  the  other  answered. 
"  My  horse  is  stronger  than  yours.  I  '11  go  into  the  creek 
just  below,  where  it 's  broader  and  not  so  deep,  and  work 
my  way  up  to  him." 

"  But  one  horse  can't  carry  both." 

"  His  will  follow,  be  sure,  when  it  sees  me." 

As  the  last  speaker  moved  away,  Gilbert  saw  a  led  horse 
plunging  through  the  water,  beside  the  other.  It  was  a 
difficult  and  dangerous  undertaking.  The  horseman  and 
the  loose  horse  entered  the  main  stream  below,  where  its 
divided  channel  met  and  broadened,  but  it  was  still  above 
the  saddle-girths,  and  very  swift.  Sometimes  the  animals 
plunged,  losing  their  foothold  ;  nevertheless,  they  gallantly 
breasted  the  current,  and  inch  by  inch  worked  their  way  to 
a  point  about  six  feet  below  Gilbert.  It  seemed  impossi 
ble  to  approach  nearer. 

"  Can  you  swim  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

Gilbert  shook  his  head.  "  Throw  me  the  end  of 
Roger's  bridle ! "  he  then  cried. 

The  man  unbuckled  the  bridle  and  threw  it,  keeping  the 
end  of  the  rein  in  his  hand.  Gilbert  tried  to  grasp  it,  but 
his  hands  were  too  numb.  He  managed,  however,  to  get 
cue  arm  and  his  head  through  the  opening,  and  relaxed  his 
hold  on  the  log. 

A  plunge,  and  the  man  had  him  by  the  collar  He  felt 
himself  lifted  by  a  strong  arm  and  laid  across  Roger's  sad- 
dle. With  his  failing  strength  and  stiff  limbs,  it  was  no 
slight  task  to  get  into  place,  and  the  return,  though  lesa 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  S41 

laborious  to  the  horses,  was  equally  dangerous,  because 
Gilbert  was  scarcely  able  to  support  himself  without 
nelp. 

"  You  're  safe  now,"  said  the  man,  when  they  reached 
<he  bank,  "  but  it 's  a  downright  mercy  of  Grod  that  you  *re 
alive ! " 

The  other  horseman  joined  them,  and  they  rode  slowly 
across  the  flooded  meadow.  They  had  both  thrown  their 
cloaks  around  Gilbert,  and  carefully  steadied  him  in  the 
saddle,  one  on  each  side.  He  was  too  much  exhausted  to 
ask  how  they  had  found  him,  or  whither  they  were  taking 
him,  —  too  numb  for  curiosity,  almost  for  gratitude. 

"  Here  's  your  saviour  ! "  said  one  of  the  men,  patting 
Roger's  shoulder.  "  It  was  all  along  of  him  that  we  found 
you.  Want  to  know  how  ?  Well  —  about  three  o'clock  it 
was,  maybe  a  little  earlier,  maybe  a  little  later,  my  wife 
woke  me  up.  *  Do  you  hear  that  ? '  she  says.  I  listened 
and  heard  a  horse  in  the  lane  before  the  door,  neighing,  — 
I  can't  tell  you  exactly  how  it  was,  —  like  as  if  he  'd  call 
up  the  house.  'T  was  rather  queer,  I  thought,  so  I  got  up 
and  looked  out  of  window,  and  it  seemed  to  me  he  had  a 
saddle  on.  He  stamped,  and  pawed,  and  then  he  gave  an- 
other yell,  and  stamped  again.  Says  I  to  my  wife, '  There's 
something  wrong  here,'  and  I  dressed  and  went  out.  When 
he  saw  me,  he  acted  the  strangest  you  ever  saw ;  thinks  I, 
if  ever  an  animal  wanted  to  speak,  that  animal  does.  When 
I  tried  to  catch  him,  he  shot  off,  run  down  the  lane  a  bit, 
and  then  came  back  as  strangely  acting  as  ever.  I  went 
into  the  house  and  woke  up  my  brother,  here,  and  we  sad- 
dled our  horses  and  started.  Away  went  yours  ahead, 
stopping  every  minute  to  look  round  and  see  if  we  followed. 
When  we  came  to  the  water,  I  kind  o'  hesitated,  but 't  was 
no  use ;  the  horse  would  have  us  go  on,  and  on,  till  we 
found  you.  I  never  heard  tell  of  the  like  of  it,  in  my  born 
days!" 

Gilbert  did  not  speak,  but  two  large  tears  slowly  gatb- 


S43  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

cred  in  Iiis  eyes,  and  rolled  down  liis  cheeks.  The  men 
saw  his  emotion,  and  respected  it. 

In  the  light  of  the  cold,  keen  dawn,  they  reached  a  snug 
fami-house,  a  mile  from  the  Brandywine.  The  men  lifted 
Gilbert  from  the  saddle,  and  would  have  carried  him  im- 
mediately into  the  house,  but  he  first  leaned  upon  Roger's 
neck,  took  the  faithful  creature's  head  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  it 

The  good  housewife  was  already  up,  and  anxiously 
awaiting  the  return  of  her  husband  and  his  brother.  A 
cheeiy  fire  crackled  on  the  hearth,  and  the  coffee-pot  was 
simmering  beside  it.  When  Gilbert  had  been  partially 
revived  by  the  warmth,  the  men  conducted  him  into  an 
adjoining  bed-room,  undressed  him,  and  rubbed  his  limbs 
with  whiskey.  Then,  a  large  bowl  of  coffee  having  been 
administered,  he  was  placed  in  bed,  covered  with  half  a 
dozen  blankets,  and  the  curtains  were  drawn  over  the  win- 
dows. In  a  few  minutes  he  w^as  plunged  in  a  slumber 
almost  as  profound  as  that  of  the  death  from  which  he  had 
been  so  miraculously  delivered. 

It  was  two  hours  past  noon  when  he  awoke,  and  he  no 
sooner  fully  comprehended  the  situation  and  learned  how 
the  time  had  sped,  than  he  insisted  on  rising,  although  still 
sore,  weak,  and  feverish.  The  good  farmer's  wife  had  kept 
a  huge  portion  of  dinner  hot  before  the  fire,  and  he  knew 
that  without  compelling  a  show  of  appetite,  he  would  not 
be  considered  sufficiently  recovered  to  leave.  He  had  but 
one  desire,  —  to  return  home.  So  recently  plucked  from 
the  jaws  of  Death,  his  life  still  seemed  to  be  an  xmcertain 
possession. 

Finally  Roger  was  led  forth,  quiet  and  submissive  as  of 
old,  —  having  forgotten  his  good  deed  as  soon  as  it  had 
been  accomplished,  —  and  Gilbert,  wrapped  in  the  farmers 
cloak,  retraced  his  way  to  the  main  road.  As  he  looked 
across  the  meadow,  which  told  of  the  inundation  in  its 
gweep  of  bent,  muddy  grass,  and  saw,  between  the  creek* 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  248 

Dank  faees,  the  lodged  timber  to  which  he  had  clung,  the 
recollection  of  the  night  impressed  him  like  a  frightfui 
dream.  It  was  a  bright,  sharp,  wintry  day,  —  the  most  vio- 
lent contrast  to  that  which  had  preceded  it  The  hills  on 
either  side,  whose  outlines  he  could  barely  guess  in  the 
darkness,  now  stood  out  from  the  air  with  a  hard,  painful 
distinctness  ;  the  sky  was  an  arch  of  cold,  steel-tinted  crys- 
tal ;  and  the  north  wind  blew  with  a  shrill,  endless  whistle 
through  the  naked  woods. 

As  he  climbed  the  long  hill  west  of  Cliadd's  Ford,  Gil- 
bert noticed  how  the  meadow  on  his  right  had  been  torn 
by  the  flood  gathered  from  the  fields  above.  In  one  place 
a  Hessian  skull  had  been  snapped  from  the  buried  skele- 
ton, and  was  rolled  to  light,  among  the  mud  and  pebbles. 
Kot  far  off,  something  was  moving  among  the  bushes,  and 
he  involuntarily  drew  rein. 

The  form  stopped,  appeared  to  crouch  down  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  suddenly  rose  and  strode  forth  upon  the  grass. 
It  Avas  a  woman,  wearing  a  man's  flannel  jacket,  and  carry- 
ing a  long,  pointed  staff  in  her  hand.  As  she  approached 
with  rapid  strides,  he  recognized  Deb.  Smith. 

"  Deborah  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

She  set  her  pole  to  the  ground  and  vaulted  over  the  high 
picket-fcpce.  like  an  athlete. 

.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  I  'd  ha'  been  shy  o'  you,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert, you  would  n't  ha'  seen  me.  I  'm  not  one  of  them  as 
goes  prowlin'  around  among  dead  bodies'  bones  at  mid- 
oight ;  what  I  want,  I  looks  for  in  the  daytime." 

**  Bones  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  're-  surely  not  digging  up 
tiie  Hessians  ?  " 

"  Not  exackly ;  but,  you  see,  the  rain 's  turned  out  a  few, 
and  some  on  'em,  folks  says,  was  buried  with  lots  o'  goold 
platted  up  in  their  pig-tails.  I  know  o'  one  man  that  dug 
up  two  or  three  to  git  their  teeth,  (to  sell  to  the  tooth- 
doctors,  you  know,)  and  when  he  took  hold  o'  the  pig-tail 
io  lifl  tlic  head  by,  the  hair  come  off  in  his  hand,  aud  out 


244  THE  STORY  OF  KEKNETT. 

rattled  ten  good  goolden  guineas.  Now,  if  any  money '« 
washed  out,  there  's  no  harm  in  a  body 's  pickin'  of  it  up) 
as  I  see." 

**  What  luck  have  you  had  ?  "  asked  Gilbert. 

"  Nothin'  to  speak  of ;  a  few  buttons,  and  a  thing  or  two. 
But  I  say,  Mr.  Gilbert,  what  luck  ha'  you  had  ?  "  She  had 
been  keenly  and  curiously  inspecting  his  face. 

"  Deborah  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  're  a  false  prophet ! 
**  You  told  me  that,  whatever  happened,  I  was  safe  from 
Sandy  Flash." 

«  Eh  ?  " 

There  was  a  shrill  tone  of  siurprise  and  curiosity  in  tlufl 
exclamation. 

"  You  ought  to  know  Sandy  Flash  better,  before  you 
prophesy  in  his  name,"  Gilbert  repeated,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gilbert,  tell  me  what  you  mean  ?  "  She  grasped 
his  leg  with  one  hand,  while  she  twisted  the  other  in  Roger's 
mane,  as  if  to  hold  both  horse  and  rider  until  the  words 
were  explained. 

Thereupon  he  related  to  her  in  a  brief,  fierce  way,  all 
that  had  befallen  him.  Her  face  grew  red  and  her  eyes 
flashed ;  she  shook  her  fist  and  swore  under  her  breath, 
from  time  to  time,  while  he  spoke. 

"  You  '11  be  righted,  Mr.  Gilbert!"  she  then  cried,  "you  11 
be  righted,  never  fear !  Leave  it  to  me  !  Have  n't  I  al- 
ways kep'  my  word  to  you  ?  You  're  believin'  I  lied  the 
last  time,  and  no  wonder ;  but  I  '11  prove  the  truth  o'  my 
words  yet  —  may  the  Devil  git  my  soul,  if  I  don't ! " 

"  Don't  think  that  I  blame  you,  Deborah,"  he  said. 
"  You  were  too  sure  of  my  good  luck,  because  you  wished 
me  to  have  it  —  that 's  all." 

"  Thank  ye  for  that !  But  it  is  n't  enough  for  me. 
When  I  promise  a  thing,  I  have  power  to  keep  my  prom- 
ise. A-x  me  no  more  questions ;  bide  quiet  awhile,  and  if 
the  money  is  n't  back  in  your  pocket  by  New- Year,  I  giv« 
ye  leave  to  curse  me,  and  kick  me,  and  spit  upon  me  1  ** 


THE   STORY   OF   KENNETT,  245 

Gilbert  smiled  sadly  and  incredulously,  and  rode  onward. 
He  made  haste  to  reach  home,  for  a  dull  pain  began  to 
throb  in  his  head,  and  chill  shudders  ran  over  his  body. 
He  longed  to  have  the  worst  over  which  yet  awaited  him, 
and  gain  a  little  rest  for  body,  brain,  and  heart. 


>*6  THE  STORY  OF  KENOTTT. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

MAKTHA   DEANE   TAKES   A   RESOLUTIOH. 

Mabt  Potter  had  scarcely  slept  during  the  night  ol 
ner  son's  absence.  A  painful  unrest,  such  as  she  nevei 
remembered  to  have  felt  before,  took  complete  possession 
of  her.  Whenever  the  monotony  of  the  drenching  rain 
outside  lulled  her  into  slumber  for  a  few  minutes,  she 
was  sure  to  start  up  in  bed  with  a  vague,  singular  impres- 
sion that  some  one  had  called  her  name.  After  midnight, 
when  the  storm  fell,  the  shrill  wailing  of  the  rising  wind 
seemed  to  forebode  disaster.  Although  she  believed  Gil- 
bert to  be  safely  housed  in  Chester,  the  fact  constantly 
slipped  from  her  memory,  and  she  shuddered  at  every 
change  in  the  wild  weather  as  if  he  were  really  exposed 
to  it 

The  next  day,  she  counted  the  hours  with  a  feverish 
impatience.  It  seemed  like  tempting  Providence,  but  she 
determined  to  surprise  her  son  with  a  supper  of  unusual 
luxury  for  their  simple  habits,  after  so  important  and  so 
toilsome  a  journey.  Sam  had  killed  a  fowl ;  it  was  picked 
and  dressed,  but  she  had  not  courage  to  put  it  into  the 
pot,  until  the  fortune  of  the  day  had  been  assured. 

Towards  sunset  she  saw,  through  the  back  -  kitchen- 
window,  a  horseman  approaching  from  the  direction  of 
Carson's.  It  seemed  to  be  Roger,  but  could  that  rider, 
in  the  faded  brown  cloak,  be  Gilbert?  His  cloak  was 
blue ;  he  always  rode  with  his  head  erect,  not  hanging 
like  this  man's,  whose  features  she  could  not  sec.  Oppo* 
Bite  the  house,  he  lifted  his  head  —  it  was  Gilbert,  bill 
how  old  and  haggard  was  his  face  I 


THE  STOKY  OF  KENNETT.  247 

She  met  him  at  the  gate.  His  cheeks  were  suddenly 
flushed,  his  eyes  bright,  and  the  smile  with  which  he  looked 
at  her  seemed  to  be  joyous ;  yet  it  gave  her  a  serse  of  pain 
and  terror. 

"  Oh,  Gilbert !  "  she  cried  ;  «  what  has  happened  ?  " 

He  slid  slowly  and  wearily  off  the  horse,  whose  neck  lie 
fondled  a  moment  before  answering  her. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "you  have  to  thank  Roger 
that  I  am  here  to-night.  I  have  come  back  to  you  from 
the  gates  of  death ;  will  you  be  satisfied  with  that  for 
a  while  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  boy !  You  frighten  me ; 
have  n't  you  been  at  Chester  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  there  was  no  use  of  going." 

A  presentiment  of  the  truth  came  to  her,  but  before  she 
could  question  him  further,  he  spoke  again. 

"  Mother,  let  us  go  into  the  house.  I  'm  cold  and  tired ; 
I  want  to  sit  in  your  old  rocking-chair,  where  I  can  rest 
my  head.  Then  I  '11  tell  you  everything ;  I  wish  I  had  an 
easier  task ! " 

She  noticed  that  his  steps  were  weak  and  slow,  felt  that 
his  hands  were  like  ice,  and  saw  his  blue  lips  and  chatter- 
ing teeth.  She  removed  the  strange  cloak,  placed  her 
chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  seated  him  in  it,  and  then  knelt 
upon  the  floor  to  draw  off"  his  stiff",  sodden  top-boots.  He 
was  passive  as  a  child  in  her  hands.  Her  care  for  him 
overcame  all  other  dread,  and  not  until  she  had  placed  his 
feet  upon  a  stool,  in  the  full  warmth  of  the  blaze,  given 
him  a  glass  of  hot  wine  and  lavender,  and  placed  a  pillow 
ander  his  head,  did  she  sit  down  at  his  side  to  hear  the 
•tory. 

"  I  thought  of  this,  last  night,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile ; 
**  not  that  I  ever  expected  to  see  it.  The  man  was  right ; 
it 's  a  mercy  of  God  that  I  ever  got  out  alive  ! " 

"  Then  be  grateful  to  God,  my  boy ! "  she  replied,  "  and 
let  me  be  grateful,  too.  It  will  balance  misfortune,  —  for 
that  there  i$  misfortune  in  store  for  us.  T  see  plainly." 


948  THE  STORr  OF  KENNETT. 

Gilbert  then  spoke.  The  narrative  was  long  and  pun- 
ftxl,  and  he  told  it  wearily  and  brokenly,  yet  with  entire 
truth,  disguising  nothing  of  the  evil  that  had  come  upon 
them.  His  mother  sat  beside  him,  pale,  stony,  stifling  the 
sobs  that  rose  in  her  throat,  until  he  reached  the  period 
of  his  marvellous  rescue,  when  she  bent  her  head  upon  his 
arm  and  wept  aloud. 

"  That 's  all,  mother ! "  he  said  at  the  close  ;  "  it  *s  hard 
to  bear,  but  I  'm  more  troubled  on  your  account  than  on. 
my  own." 

"  Oh,  I  feared  we  were  over-sure ! "  she  cried.  "  I 
claimed  payment  before  it  was  ready.  The  Lord  chooses 
His  own  time,  and  punishes  them  that  can't  wait  for  His 
ways  to  be  manifest !  It 's  terribly  hard  ;  and  yet,  while 
His  left  hand  smites.  His  right  hand  gives  mercy !  He 
might  ha'  taken  you,  my  boy,  but  He  makes  a  miracle  to 
save  you  for  me  !  " 

When  she  had  outwept  her  passionate  tumult  of  feeling, 
she  grew  composed  and  serene.  "  Have  n't  I  yet  learned 
to  be  patient,  in  all  these  years  ?  "  she  said.  "  Have  n't 
I  sworn  to  work  out  with  open  eyes  the  work  I  took  in 
blindness  ?  And  after  waiting  twenty-five  years,  am  I  to 
murmur  at  another  year  or  two  ?  No,  Gilbert !  It 's  to 
be  done  ;  I  will  deserve  my  justice  !  Keep  your  courage, 
my  boy ;  be  brave  and  patient,  and  the  sight  of  you  will 
hold  me  from  breaking  down  !  " 

She  arose,  felt  his  hands  and  feet,  set  his  pillow  aright, 
and  then  stooped  and  kissed  him.  His  chills  had  ceased ; 
a  feeling  of  heavy,  helpless  languor  crept  over  him. 

"  Let  Sam  see  to  Roger,  mother ! "  he  murmiu-ed.  "  TeP 
him  not  to  spare  the  oats." 

**  I  *d  feed  him  with  my  own  hands,  Gilbert,  if  I  coula 
leave  you.  I  'd  put  fine  wheat-bread  into  his  manger  and 
wrap  him  in  blankets  off  my  own  bed!  To  think  that 
Roger,  —  that  I  did  n't  want  you  to  buy,  —  Lord  forgive 
me,  I  was  advising  your  own  deatt  I " 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  249 

It  was  fortunate  for  Mary  Potter  that  she  saw  a  mysteri- 
ous Providence,  which,  to  her  mind,  warned  and  yet  prom- 
ised while  it  chastised,  in  all  that  had  occurred.  This  feeling 
helped  her  to  bear  a  disappointment,  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  very  grievous.  The  idea  of  an  atoning  ordeal, 
which  she  must  endure  in  order  to  be  crowned  with  the 
final  justice,  and  so  behold  her  life  redeemed,  had  become 
rooted  in  her  nature.  To  Gilbert  much  of  this  feeling  was 
inexplicable,  because  he  was  ignorant  of  the  circumstances 
which  had  called  it  into  existence.  But  he  saw  that  his 
mother  was  not  yet  hopeless,  that  she  did  not  seem  to  con- 
sider her  deliverance  as  materially  postponed,  and  a  glim- 
mer of  hope  was  added  to  the  relief  of  having  told  his  tale. 

He  was  still  feverish,  dozing  and  muttering  in  uneasy 
dreams,  as  he  lay  back  in  the  old  rocking-chair,  and  Mary 
Potter,  with  Sam's  help,  got  him  to  bed,  after  administer- 
ing a  potion  which  she  was  accustomed  to  use  in  all  coio- 
plaints,  from  mumps  to  typhus  fever. 

As  for  Roger,  he  stood  knee-deep  in  cle^n  litter,  with 
half  a  bushel  of  oats  before  him. 

The  next  morning  Gilbert  did  not  arise,  and  as  he  com- 
plained of  great  soreness  in  every  part  of  his  body,  Sam 
was  dispatched  for  Dr.  Deane. 

It  was  the  first  time  this  gentleman  had  ever  been  sum- 
moned to  the  Potter  farm-house.  Mary  Potter  felt  con- 
siderable trepidation  at  his  arrival,  both  on  account  of  the 
awe  which  his  imposing  presence  inspired,  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  son's  love  for  his  daughter,  —  a  fact  which, 
she  rightly  conjectured,  he  did  not  suspect.  As  he  brought 
his  ivory-headed  cane,  his  sleek  drab  broadcloth,  and  his 
herbaceous  fragrance  into  the  kitchen,  she  was  almost 
overpowered. 

"  How  is  thy  son  ailing  ?"  he  asked.  "  He  always  seemed 
to  me  to  be  a  very  healthy  young  man." 

She  desciibed  the  symptoms  with  a  conscientious  mi- 
Quteness. 


250  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  How  was  it  brought  on  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

She  had  not  intended  to  relate  the  wliole  story,  but  onlj 
BO  much  of  it  as  was  necessary  for  the  Doctor's  purposes; 
but  the  connnencenient  excited  his  curiosity,  and  lie  knew 
so  skilfully  how  to  draw  one  word  after  another,  suggesting 
further  explanations  without  directly  asking  them,  that 
Mary  Potter  was  led  on  and  on,  until  she  had  communi- 
cated all  the  particulars  of  her  son's  misfortune. 

"  This  is  a  wonderful  tale  thee  tells  me,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor—  "wonderful !  Sandy  Flash,  no  doubt,  has  reason  to 
remember  thy  son,  who,  I  'm  told,  faced  him  very  boldly 
on  Second-day  morning.  It  is  really  time  the  country  was 
aronsed  ;  we  shall  hardly  be  safe  in  our  own  houses.  And 
all  night  in  the  Brandy  wine  flood  —  I  don't  wonder  thy 
son  is  unwell.     Let  me  go  up  to  him." 

Dr.  Deane's  prescriptions  usually  conformed  to  the  prac- 
tice of  his  day,  —  bleeding  and  big  doses,  —  and  he  woulu 
undoubtedly  have  applied  both  of  these  in  Gilbert's  case, 
but  for  the  latter's  great  anxiety  to  be  in  the  saddle  and 
on  the  hunt  of  his  enemy.  He  stoutly  refused  to  be  bled, 
and  the  Doctor  had  learned,  from  long  observation,  that 
patients  of  a  certain  class  must  be  humored  rather  than 
coerced.  So  he  administered  a  double  dose  of  Dover's 
Powders,  and  prohibited  the  drinking  of  cold  water.  His 
report  was,  on  the  whole,  reassuring  to  Mary  Potter.  Pro- 
vided his  directions  were  strictly  followed,  he  said,  her 
son  would  be  up  in  two  or  three  days  ;  but  there  might  be 
a  turn  for  the  worse,  as  the  shock  to  the  system  had  been 
very  great,  and  she  ought  to  have  assistance. 

"  There 's  no  one  I  can  call  upon,"  said  she,  "  without 
it 's  Betsy  Lavender,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  tell  her  foi 
me,  if  you  think  she  can  come." 

"I  '11  oblige  thee,  certainly,"  the  Doctor  answered. 
"  Betsy  is  with  us,  just  now,  and  T  don't  doubt  but  she 
can  spare  a  day  or  two.  She  may  be  a  little  «eadstrong 
in  her  ways,  but  thee  '11  find  her  a  safe  nurse." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  25] 

It  was  really  not  necessary,  as  the  event  proved.  Rest 
and  warmth  were  what  Gilbert  most  needed.  But  Dr 
Deane  always  exaggerated  his  patient's  condition  a  little, 
m  order  that  the  credit  of  the  latter's  recovery  might  be 
greater.  The  present  case  was  a  very  welcome  one,  nc4 
only  because  it  enabled  him  to  recite  a  most  astonishing 
narrative  at  second-hand,  but  also  because  it  suggested  a 
condition  far  more  dangerous  than  that  which  the  patient 
actually  suffered.  He  was  the  first  person  to  bear  the 
news  to  Kennett  Square,  where  it  threw  the  village  into  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  Avhich  rapidly  spread  over  the 
neighborhood. 

He  related  it  at  his  own  tea-table  that  evening,  to  Mar- 
tha and  Miss  Betsy  Lavender.  The  former  could  with 
difficulty  conceal  her  agitation  ;  she  turned  red  and  pale, 
until  the  Doctor  finally  remarked,  — 

"  Why,  child,  thee  need  n't  be  so  frightened." 

"  Never  mind  !  "  exclaimed  Mi^ 3  Betsy,  promptly  coming 
to  the  rescue,  "  it 's  enough  to  frighten  anybody.  It  fiiirly 
makes  me  shiver  in  my  shoes.  If  Alf.  Barton  had  hu' 
done  his  dooty  like  a  man,  this  would  n't  ha'  happened  I " 

'*  I  'vc  no  doubt  Alfred  did  the  best  he  could,  under  the 
circumstances,"  the  Doctor  sternly  remarked. 

"  Fiddlc-dc-dce  ! "  was  Miss  Betsy's  contemptuous  an- 
swer. "  He 's  no  more  gizzard  than  a  rabbit.  But  that 's 
neither  here  nor  there ;  Mary  Potter  wants  me  to  go  down 
and  help,  and  go  I  will !  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  thee  might  as  well  go  down  to-»norrow 
morning,  though  I  'm  in  liopes  the  young  man  may  be 
better,  if  he  minds  my  directions,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  To-morrow  mornin'  ?  AVhy  not  next  week  ?  When 
help  's  wanted,  give  it  rigJit  away;  don't  let  the  grass 
grow  under  your  feet,  say  I !  Good  iuck  that  I  gov  up 
Mendenhall's  home-comin'  over  t'  the  Lion,  or  I  would  n't 
ha'  been  here ;  so  another  cup  o*  tea,  Martha,  and  I  'm 

oirr 


252  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Martha  left  the  table  at  the  same  time,  and  followed 
Miss  Betsy  up-stairs.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  but  she 
did  not  tremble,  and  her  voice  came  firm  and  clear. 

"  I  am  going  with  you,"  she  said. 

Miss  Lavender  whirled  around  and  looked  at  her  a 
minute,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  I  see  you  mean  it,  child.  Don't  think  me  hard  or  cruel, 
for  I  know  your  feelin's  as  well  as  if  they  was  mine  ;  but 
all  the  same,  I  've  got  to  look  ahead,  and  back'ards,  and  on 
this  side  and  that,  and  so  lookin',  and  so  judgin',  accordin* 
to  my  light,  which  a'n't  all  tied  up  in  a  napkin,  what  I  've 
got  to  say  is,  and  ag'in  don't  think  me  hard,  it  won't  do !" 

"  Betsy,"  Martha  Deane  persisted,  "  a  misfortune  Uke 
this  brings  my  duty  with  it.  Besides,  he  may  be  in  great 
dangei  ;  he  may  have  got  his  death,"  — 

"  Don't  begin  talkin^  that  way,"  Miss  Lavender  inter- 
rupted, "  or  you  '11  put  me  out  o'  patience.  I  'II  say  that 
for  your  father,  he  's  always  mortal  concerned  for  a  bad 
case,  Gilbert  Potter  or  not ;  and  I  can  mostly  tell  the 
heft  of  a  sickness  by  the  way  he  talks  about  it,  —  so  that 's 
settled ;  and  as  to  dooties,  it 's  very  well  and  right,  I  don't 
deny  it,  but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  I  said  before,  the 
whole  thing 's  a  snarl,  and  I  say  it  ag'in,  and  unless  you  've 
got  the  end  o'  the  ravellin's  in  your  hand,  the  harder  you 
pull,  the  wuss  you  '11  make  it !  " 

There  was  good  sense  in  these  words,  and  Martha  Deane 
felt  it.  Her  resolution  began  to  waver,  in  spite  of  the 
tender  instinct  which  told  her  that  Gilbert  Potter  now 
needed  precisely  the  help  and  encouragement  which  she 
alone  could  give. 

"Oh,  Betsy,"  she  murmured,  her  tears  falling  without 
restraint,  "  it 's  hard  for  me  to  seem  so  strange  to  him,  at 
such  a  time  ! " 

"Yes,"  answered  the  spinster,  setting  her  comb  tight 
with  a  fierce  thrust,  "  it 's  hard  every  one  of  us  can't  have 
our  own  ways  in  this  world !     But  don't  take  on  now,  Mar- 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  98$ 

dia  dear;  we  only  have  your  father's  word,  and  not  to  b« 
called  a  friend's,  but  I'll  see  how  the  land  lays,  and  to- 
morrow evenin',  or  next  day  at  th'  outside,  you  '11  know 
everything  fair  and  square.  Neither  you  nor  Gilbert  is 
inclined  to  do  things  rash,  and  what  you  both  agree  on, 
after  a  proper  understandin',  I  guess  '11  be  pretty  nigh 
right     There  !  where  's  my  knittin'-basket  ?  " 

Miss  Lavender  trudged  off,  utterly  fearless  of  the  night 
walk  of  two  miles,  down  the  lonely  road.  In  less  than  an 
hour  she  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  farm-house,  and  was 
received  with  open  arms  by  Mary  Potter,  Gilbert  had 
slept  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  but  was  now  awake,  and 
so  restless,  from  the  desire  to  leave  his  bed,  that  his  mother 
could  with  difficulty  restrain  him. 

"  Set  down  and  rest  yourself,  Mary ! "  Miss  Betsy  ex- 
claimed.    "  I  '11  go  up  and  put  him  to  rights." 

She  took  a  lamp  and  mounted  to  the  bed-room.  Gil- 
bert, drenched  in  perspiration,  and  tossing  uneasily  under 
a  huge  pile  of  blankets,  sprang  up  as  her  gaunt  figure  en- 
tered the  door.  She  placed  the  lamp  on  a  table,  pressed 
him  down  on  the  pillow  by  main  force,  and  covered  him 
up  to  the  chin. 

"  Martha  ?  "  he  whispered,  his  face  full  of  intense,  piteous 
eagerness. 

"  Will  you  promise  to  lay  still  and  sweat,  as  you  're  told 
to  do  ?  " 

«  Yes,  yes ! " 

"  Now  let  me  feel  your  pulse.  That  '11  do ;  now  for  your 
tongue  !  Tut,  tut !  the  boy 's  not  so  bad.  I  give  you  my 
word  you  may  get  up  and  dress  yourself  to-morrow  momin*, 
if  you  '11  only  hold  out  to-night.  And  as  for  thorough-stem 
tea,  and  what  not,  I  guess  you  've  had  enough  of  'em ; 
but  you  can't  jump  out  of  a  sick-spell  into  downright  peart- 
aess,  at  one  jump  ! " 

"  Martha,  Martha ! "  Gilbert  urged 

"  You  're  both  of  a  piece,  I  declaie  I    There  leas  she^ 


254  THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT 

this  very  niglit,  dead  set  on  comin'  down  with  me,  and 
mortal  hard  it  was  to  persuade  her  to  he  reasonable ! " 

Miss  Lavender  had  not  a  great  deal  to  relate,  hut  Gil 
bert  compelled  her  to  make  up  by  repetition  what  she 
lacked  in  quantity.  And  at  every  repetition  the  soreness 
seemed  to  decrease  in  his  body,  and  the  weakness  in  his 
muscles,  and  hope  and  courage  to  increase  in  his  heart. 

"Tell  her,"  he  exclaimed,  "it  was  enough  that  she 
wanted  to  come.     That  alone  has  put  new  life  into  me  1 " 

"  I  see  it  has,"  said  Miss  Lavender,  "  and  now,  maybe, 
you  've  got  life  enough  to  tell  me  all  the  ups  and  downs  o* 
this  affair,  for  I  can't  say  as  I  rightly  undei"stand  it." 

The  conference  was  long  and  important.  Gilbert  re- 
lated every  circumstance  of  his  adventure,  including  the 
mysterious  allusion  to  Alfred  Barton,  which  he  had  con- 
cealed from  his  mother.  He  was  determined,  as  his  first 
course,  to  call  the  volunteers  together  and  organize  a 
thorough  hunt  for  the  highwayman.  Until  that  had  been 
tried,  he  would  postpone  all  further  plans  of  action.  Miss 
Lavender  did  not  say  much,  except  to  encourage  him  in 
this  determination.  She  felt  that  there  was  grave  matter 
for  reflection  in  what  had  happened.  The  threads  of  mys- 
tery seemed  to  increase,  and  she  imagined  it  possible  that 
they  might  all  converge  to  one  unknown  point. 

"  Mary,"  she  said,  when  she  descended  to  the  kitchen, 
"  I  don't  see  but  what  the  boy  's  goin'  on  finely.  Go  to 
bed,  you,  and  sleep  quietly  ;  I  '11  take  the  settle,  here,  and 
I  promise  you  I  '11  go  up  every  hour  through  the  night,  to 
see  whether  he  's  kicked  his  coverin's  off." 

Which  promise  she  faithfully  kept,  and  in  the  morning 
Gilbert  came  down  to  breakfast,  a  little  haggard,  but  ap» 
parcntly  as  sound  as  ever.  Even  the  Doctor,  when  he 
arrived,  was  slightly  surprised  at  the  rapid  improvement. 

"  A  fine  constitution  for  medicines  to  work  on,"  he  re- 
marked. "  1  would  n't  wish  thee  to  be  sick,  but  when  thee 
M,  it 's  a  pleasure  to  see  how  thy  system  obeys  the  ti'cat- 
mcnt." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  255 

Martha  Deane,  during  Miss  Lavender's  absence,  had 
again  discussed,  in  her  lieart,  her  duty  to  Gilbert.  Her 
conscience  was  hardly  satisfied  with  the  relinquishment 
of  her  fu-st  impulse.  She  felt  that  there  was,  there  nuist 
be,  something  for  her  to  do  in  this  emergency.  She  knew 
that  he  had  toiled,  and  dared,  and  suffered  for  her  sake, 
while  she  had  done  nothing.  It  was  not  pride,  —  at  least 
not  the  haughty  quality  which  beai-s  an  obligation  uneasily, 
—  but  rather  the  impulse,  at  once  brave  and  tender,  to 
stand  side  by  side  with  him  in  the  struggle,  and  win  an 
equal  right  to  the  final  blessing. 

In  the  afternoon  Miss  Lavender  returned,  and  her  first 
business  was  to  give  a  faithful  report  of  Gilbert's  condition 
and  the  true  story  of  his  misfortune,  which  she  repeated, 
almost  word  for  word,  as  it  came  from  his  lips.  It  did 
not  differ  materially  from  that  which  Martlia  had  already 
heard,  and  the  direction  which  her  thoughts  had  taken,  in 
the  mean  time,  seemed  to  be  confirmed.  The  gentle, 
steady  strength  of  pui-pose  that  looked  from  her  clear  blue 
eyes,  and  expressed  itself  in  the  firm,  sharp  curve  of  her 
lip,  was  never  more  distinct  than  when  she  said,  — 

"  Now,  Betsy,  all  is  clear  to  me.  You  were  right  before, 
and  I  am  right  now.  I  must  see  Gilbert  when  he  calls 
the  men  together,  and  after  that  I  shall  know  how  to  act." 

Three  days  afterwards,  there  was  another  assemblage  of 
the  Kennett  Volunteers  at  the  Unicom  Tavern.  Tliia 
time,  however,  Mark  Deane  was  on  hand,  and  Alfred 
Barton  did  not  make  his  appearance.  That  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter should  take  the  command  was  an  understood  matter. 
The  preliminary  consultation  was  secretly  held,  and  when 
Dougherty,  the  Irish  ostler,  mixed  himself,  as  by  accident, 
among  the  troop,  Gilbert  sharply  ordered  him  away. 
Wliatever  the  plan  of  the  chase  was,  it  was  not  communi- 
cated to  the  crowd  of  country  idlers ;  and  there  was,  ia 
consequence,  some  grumbling  at,  and  a  great  deal  of  re- 
spect for,  the  new  arrangement. 


256  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender  had  managed  to  speak  to  Gilbert 
before  the  others  arrived  ;  therefore,  after  they  had  left,  to 
meet  the  next  day,  equipped  for  a  possible  absence  of  a 
week,  he  crossed  the  road  and  entered  Dr.  Deane's  house. 

This  time  the  two  met,  not  so  much  as  lovers,  but  rather 
as  husband  and  wife  might  meet  after  long  absence  and 
escape  from  imminent  danger.  Martha  Deane  knew  how 
cruel  and  bitter  Gilbert's  fate  must  seem  to  his  own  heart, 
and  she  resolved  that  all  the  cheer  which  lay  in  her  buoy- 
ant, courageous  nature  should  be  given  to  him.  Never 
did  a  woman  more  sweetly  blend  the  tones  of  regret  and 
faith,  sympathy  and  encouragement. 

"  The  time  has  come,  Gilbert,"  she  said  at  last,  "  when 
our  love  for  each  other  must  no  longer  be  kept  a  secret  — 
at  least  from  the  few  who,  under  other  circumstances, 
would  have  a  right  to  know  it.  We  must  still  wait,  though 
no  longer  (remember  that !)  than  we  were  already  agreed 
to  wait ;  but  we  should  betray  ourselves,  sooner  or  later, 
and  then  the  secret,  discovered  by  others,  would  seem  to 
hint  at  a  sense  of  shame.  We  shall  gain  respect  and 
sympathy,  and  perhaps  help,  if  we  reveal  it  ourselves. 
Even  if  you  do  not  take  the  same  view,  Gilbert,  think  of 
this,  that  it  is  my  place  to  stand  beside  you  in  your  hour 
of  difficulty  and  trial ;  that  other  losses,  other  dangers, 
may  come,  and  you  could  not,  you  must  not,  hold  me  apart 
when  my  heart  tells  me  we  should  be  together ! " 

She  laid  her  arms  caressingly  over  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  in  his  face.  A  wonderful  softness  and  tenderness 
touched  his  pale,  worn  countenance.  "  Martha,"  he  said, 
"  remember  that  my  disgrace  will  cover  you,  yet  awhile.** 

«  Gilbert ! " 

That  one  word,  proud,  passionate,  reproachful,  yet  for- 
giving, sealed  his  lips. 

"So  be  it ! "  he  cried.  «  God  knows,  I  think  but  of 
you.  If  I  selfishly  considered  myself,  do  yoj  ihink  1 
would  hold  back  my  own  honor  ?  * 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  257 

"  A  poor  honor,"  she  said,  "  that  I  sit  comfortably  al 
home  and  love  you,  while  you  are  face  to  face  with  death  ! " 

Martha  Deane's  resolution  was  inflexibly  taken.  That 
same  evening  she  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where  her 
father  was  smoking  a  pipe  before  the  open  stove,  and 
placed  her  chair  opposite  to  his. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  thee  has  never  asked  any  questions 
concerning  Alfred  Barton's  visit." 

The  Doctor  started,  and  looked  at  her  keenly,  before 
replying.  Her  voice  had  its  simple,  natural  tone,  her  man* 
ner  was  calm  and  self-possessed ;  yet  something  in  her  firm, 
erect  posture  and  steady  eye  impressed  him  with  the  idea 
that  she  had  determined  on  a  full  and  final  discussion  of 
the  question. 

"  No,  child,"  he  answered,  after  a  pause.  "  I  saw  Alfred, 
and  he  said  thee  was  rather  taken  by  surprise.  He  thought, 
perhaps,  thee  did  n't  rightly  know  thy  own  mind,  and  it 
would  be  better  to  wait  a  little.  That  is  the  chief  reason 
why  I  have  n't  spoken  to  thee." 

"  K  Alfred  Barton  said  that,  he  told  thee  false,"  said  she. 
"  I  knew  my  own  mind,  as  well  then  as  now.  I  said  to  him 
that  nothing  could  ever  make  me  his  wife." 

"  Martha ! "  the  Doctor  exclaimed,  "  don't  be  hasty !  If 
Alfred  is  a  little  older  "  — 

"  Father !  "  she  interrupted,  "  never  mention  this  thing 
again !  Thee  can  neither  give  me  away,  nor  sell  me ; 
though  I  am  a  woman,  I  belong  to  myself.  Thee  knows 
I  'm  not  hasty  in  anything.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I 
rightly  knew  my  own  heart ;  but  when  I  did  know  it  and 
found  that  it  had  chosen  truly,  I  gave  it  freely,  and  it  is 
gone  from  me  forever ! " 

"  Martha,  Martha !  "  cried  Dr.  Deane,  starting  from  his 
seat,  "  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  something  which  it  is  thy  right  to  know,  and 
therefore  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  thee,  even  at  the 
risk  of  incurring  thy  lasting  displeasure.    It  means  that  I 
17 


258  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

have  followed  the  guidance  of  my  own  heart  and  bestowed 
it  on  a  man  a  thousand  times  better  and  nobler  than  Alfred 
Barton  ever  was,  and,  if  the  Lord  spares  us  to  each  other, 
I  shall  one  day  be  his  wife  ! " 

The  Doctor  glared  at  his  daughter  in  speechless  amaze« 
ment.  But  she  met  his  gaze  steadily,  although  her  face 
grew  a  shade  paler,  and  the  expression  of  the  pain  she 
could  not  entirely  suppress,  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
struggle  before  her,  trembled  a  little  about  the  comers  of 
her  lips. 

"  Who  is  this  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

«  Gilbert  Potter." 

Dr.  Dcane's  pipe  dropped  from  his  hand  and  smashed 
upon  the  iron  hearth. 

"  ]\Iartha  Deane ! "  he  cried.  "  Does  the  d —  what  pos- 
sesses thee  ?  Was  n't  it  enough  that  thee  should  drive 
away  the  man  1  had  picked  out  for  thee,  with  a  single  view 
to  thy  own  interest  and  happiness ;  but  must  thee  take  up, 
as  a  wicked  spite  to  thy  father,  with  almost  the  only  man 
in  the  neighborhood  who  brings  thee  nothing  but  poverty 
and  disgrace  ?     It  shall  not  be  —  it  shall  never  be !  " 

"  It  must  be,  father,"  she  said  gently.  "  God  hath 
joined  our  hearts  and  our  lives,  and  no  man  —  not  even 
thee  —  shall  put  them  asunder.  If  there  were  disgrace, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  —  which  I  now  know  there  is  not, 
—  Gilbert  has  wiped  it  out  by  his  courage,  his  integrity, 
and  his  sufferings.     If  he  is  poor,  I  am  well  to  do." 

"  Thee  forgets,"  the  Doctor  interrupted,  in  a  stem  voice, 
"  the  time  is  n't  up !  " 

"  I  know  that  unless  thee  gives  thy  consent,  we  must 
wait  three  years ;  but  I  hope,  father,  when  thee  comes  to 
know  Gilbert  better,  thee  will  not  be  so  hard.  I  am  thy 
only  child,  and  my  happiness  cannot  be  indifferent  to  thee. 
I  have  tried  to  obey  thee  in  all  things  "  — 

He  interrupted  her  again.  "  Thee  's  adding  another 
cross  CO  them  I  bear  for  thee  already !     Am  I  not,  in  a 


THE  STORY  OF  KEiTNETT.  259 

(nanner,  thy  Keeper,  and  responsible  for  thee,  before  the 
world  and  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  ?  But  thee  hardened 
thy  heart  against  the  direction  of  the  Spirit,  and  what  won- 
der, then,  that  it 's  hardened  against  me  ?  " 

"  No,  father,"  said  Martha,  rising  and  laying  her  hand 
softly  upon  his  arm,  "  I  obeyed  the  Spirit  in  that  other  mat- 
ter, as  I  obey  my  conscience  in  this.  I  took  my  duty  into 
my  own  hands,  and  considered  it  in  a  humble,  and,  I  hope, 
a  pious  spirit  I  saw  that  there  were  innocent  needs  of 
nature,  pleasant  enjoyments  of  life,  which  did  not  conflict 
with  sincere  demotion,  and  that  I  was  not  called  upon  to 
renounce  them  because  others  happened  to  see  the  world 
in  a  different  light  In  this  sense,  thee  is  not  my  keeper ; 
I  must  render  an  account,  not  to  thee,  but  to  Him  who  gave 
me  my  soul.  Neither  is  thee  the  keeper  of  my  heart  and 
its  afl'ections.  In  the  one  case  and  the  other  my  right  is 
equal,  —  nay,  it  stands  as  far  above  thine  as  Heaven  is 
above  the  earth  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  his  wrath,  Dr.  Deane  could  not  help  ad- 
miring his  daughter.  Foiled  and  exasperated  as  he  was  by 
the  sweet,  serene,  lofty  power  of  her  words,  they  excited 
a  wondering  respect  which  he  found  it  difficult  to  hide. 

"  Ah,  Martha ! "  he  said,  "  thee  has  a  wonderful  power, 
if  it  were  only  directed  by  the  true  Light !  But  now,  it 
only  makes  the  cross  heavier.  Don't  think  that  I  '11  ever 
consent  to  see  thee  carry  out  thy  strange  and  wicked  fan- 
cies !  Thee  must  learn  to  forget  this  man,  Potter,  and  the 
sooner  thee  begins  the  easier  it  will  be  ! " 

"  Father,"  she  answered,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  I  'm  sorry 
thee  knows  so  little  of  my  nature.  The  wickedness  would 
be  in  forgetting.  It  is  very  painful  to  me  that  we  must 
difler.  AVhere  my  duty  was  wholly  owed  to  thee,  I  l  ave 
never  delayed  to  give  it ;  but  here  it  is  owed  to  Gilbert 
Potter,  —  owed,  and  ynW  be  given." 

"  Enough,  Martha ! "  cried  the  Doctor,  trembling  with 
anger;  "  don't  mention  his  name  again  ! " 


260  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  I  will  not,  except  when  the  same  duty  requires  it  to  be 
mentioned.  But,  father,  try  to  think  less  harshly  of  the 
name  ;  it  will  one  day  be  mine  ! " 

She  spoke  gently  and  imploringly,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Tlie  conflict  had  been,  as  she  said,  very  painful ;  but  her 
course  was  plain,  and  she  dared  not  flinch  a  step  at  the 
outset  The  difficulties  must  be  met  face  to  face,  and  reso- 
lutely assailed,  if  they  were  ever  to  be  overcome. 

Dr.  Deane  strode  up  and  down  the  room  in  silence,  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back.  Martha  stood  by  the  fire,  wait- 
ing his  further  speech,  but  he  did  not  look  at  her,  and  at 
the  end  of  half  an  hour,  commanded  shortly  and  sharply, 
without  turning  his  head,  — 

«  Go  to  bed  ! " 

**  Grood-night,  father,"  she  said,  in  her  usual  c'iear  sveel 
voice,  and  quietly  left  the  room. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  i61 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

A   CROSS-EXAMINATION. 

Thb  story  of  Gilbert  Potter's  robbery  and  marvellous 
escape  from  death  ran  rapidly  through  the  neighborhood, 
and  coming,  as  it  did,  upon  the  heels  of  his  former  adven- 
ture, created  a  great  excitement  He  became  almost  a 
hero  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  It  was  not  their  habit  to 
allow  any  man  to  quite  assume  so  lofty  a  character  as  that, 
but  they  granted  to  Gilbert  fully  as  much  interest  as,  in 
their  estimation,  any  human  being  ought  properly  to  re- 
ceive. Dr.  Deane  was  eagerly  questioned,  wherever  he 
went ;  and  if  his  garments  could  have  exhaled  the  odors  of 
his  feelings,  his  questioners  would  have  smelled  aloes  and 
asafoetida  instead  of  sweet-marjoram  and  bergamot  But 
—  in  justice  to  him  be  it  said  —  he  told  and  retold  the 
story  very  correctly  ;  the  tide  of  sympathy  ran  so  high  and 
strong,  that  he  did  not  venture  to  stem  it  on  grounds  which 
could  not  be  publicly  explained. 

The  supposed  disgrace  of  Gilbert's  birth  seemed  to  be 
quite  forgotten  for  the  time  ;  and  there  was  no  young  man 
of  spirit  in  the  four  townships  who  was  not  willing  to  serve 
under  his  command.  More  volunteers  offered,  in  fact,  than 
could  be  profitably  employed.  Sandy  Flash  was  not  the 
game  to  be  unearthed  by  a  loud,  numerous,  sweeping  hunt ; 
traps,  pitfalls,  secret  and  unwearied  following  of  his  many 
trails,  were  what  was  needed.  So  much  time  had  elapsed 
that  the  beginning  must  be  a  conjectural  beating  of  the 
bushes,  and  to  this  end  several  small  companies  were  or- 
ganized, and  the  country  between  the  Octorara  and  the 
Delaware  very  efiectually  scoured. 


t63  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

TTlien  the  various  parties  reunited,  after  several  daya^ 
neither  of  them  brought  any  positive  intelligence,  but  all 
the  greater  store  of  guesses  and  rumors.  Three  or  foul 
suspicious  individuals  had  been  followed  and  made  to  give 
an  account  of  themselves  ;  certain  hiding-places,  especially 
the  rocky  lairs  along  the  Brandywine  and  the  North  Valley- 
Hill,  Avere  carefully  examined,  and  some  traces  of  occupa- 
tion, though  none  very  recent,  were  discovered.  Such  evi- 
dence as  there  was  seemed  to  indicate  that  part  of  the 
eastern  branch  of  the  Brandywine,  between  the  forks  of 
the  stream  and  the  great  Chester  Valley,  as  being  the  prob- 
able retreat  of  the  highwayman,  and  a  second  expedition 
was  at  once  organized.  The  Sheriff,  with  a  posse  of  men 
from  the  lower  part  of  the  county,  undertook  to  watch  the 
avenues  of  escape  towards  the  river. 

This  new  attempt  was  not  more  successful,  so  far  as  its 
main  object  Avas  concerned,  but  it  actually  stumbled  upon 
Sandy  Flash's  ti-ail,  and  only  failed  by  giving  tongue  too 
soon  and  following  too  impetuously.  Gilbert  and  his  men 
had  a  tantalizing  impression  (which  later  intelligence  proved 
to  have  been  correct)  that  the  robber  was  somewhere  near 
them,  -^  buried  in  the  depths  of  the  very  wood  they  were 
approaching,  dodging  behind  the  next  bam  as  it  came  into 
view,  or  hidden  under  dead  leaves  in  some  rain-washed  gul- 
ley.  Had  they  but  known,  one  gloomy  afternoon  in  late 
December,  that  they  were  riding  under  the  cedar-tree  in 
whose  close,  cloudy  foliage  he  was  coiled,  just  above  their 
heads !  Had  they  but  guessed  who  the  deaf  old  woman 
was,  with  her  face  muffled  from  the  cold,  and  six  cuts  of 
blue  yam  in  her  basket !  But  detection  had  not  then  be- 
come a  science,  and  they  were  far  from  suspecting  the  ex- 
tent of  Sandy  Flash's  devices  and  disguises. 

Many  of  the  volunteers  finally  grew  tired  of  the  fruitless 
chase,  and  returned  home ;  others  could  only  spare  a  few 
days  from  their  winter  labors;  but  Gilbert  Potter,  with 
tbree  or  four  faithAil  and  courageous  young  fellows,  —  one 


TIIE  STORY  OF  KEKNETT.  269 

of  whom  was  Mark  Deane,  —  returned  again  and  ngain  to 
the  search,  and  not  until  the  end  of  Decenibcr  did  he  con- 
fess himself  baffled.  By  this  time  all  traces  of  the  hij^h- 
wayman  were  again  lost ;  he  seemed  to  have  disappeared 
from  the  country. 

"  ]  believe  Pratt 's  right,"  said  Jlark,  as  the  two  issued 
from  the  ]^Iarlborough  woods,  on  their  return  to  Kennett 
Square.     "  Chester  County  is  too  hot  to  hold  him." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Gilbert  answered,  with  a  gloomy  face. 
He  was  more  keenly  disappointed  at  the  failure  than  he 
would  then  confess,  even  to  Mark.  The  outrage  committed 
upon  him  was  still  unavenged,  and  thus  his  loss,  to  his 
proud,  sensitive  nature,  carried  a  certain  shame  with  it 
Moreover,  the  loss  itself  must  speedily  be  replaced.  He 
had  half  flattered  himself  with  the  hope  of  capturing  not 
only  Sandy  Flash,  but  his  plunder;  it  was  hard  to  forget 
that,  for  a  day  or  two,  he  had  been  independent,  —  hard  to 
stoop  again  to  be  a  borrower  and  a  debtor ! 

"  What  are  the  county  authorities  good  for  ?  "  Mark  ex- 
claimed. "  Between  you  and  me,  the  Sheriff 's  a  reg'lar 
puddin'-head.     I  wish  you  was  in  his  place." 

"  If  Sandy  is  safe  in  Jersey,  or  down  on  the  Eastern 
Shore,  that  would  do  no  good.  It  is  n't  enough  that  he 
leaves  us  alone,  from  this  time  on ;  he  has  a  heavy  back- 
score  to  settle." 

"  Come  to  think  on  it,  Gilbert,"  Mark  continued,  "  is  n't 
it  rather  queer  that  you  and  him  should  be  thrown  together 
in  such  ways  ?  There  was  Barton's  fox-chase  last  spring ; 
then  your  shootin'  at  other,  at  the  Square ;  and  then  the 
robbery  on  the  road.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  he  picked  you 
out  to  follow  you,  and  yet  I  don't  know  why." 

Gilbert  started.  Mark's  words  reawakened  the  dark, 
incredible  suspicion  which  Martha  Deane  had  removed. 
Again  he  declared  to  himself  that  he  would  not  entertain 
the  thought,  but  he  could  not  reject  the  evidence  that 
there  was  something  more  than  accident  in  all  these  en* 


264  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

counters.  If  any  one  besides  Sandy  Flash  were  responsi- 
ble for  the  last  meeting,  it  must  be  Alfred  Barton.  The 
latter,  therefore,  owed  him  an  explanation,  and  he  would 
demand  it 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  "  big  hill "  north  of 
the  Fairthom  farm-house,  whence  they  looked  eastward 
down  the  sloping  corn-field  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
the  husking-frolic,  Mark  turned  to  Gilbert  with  an  honest 
blush  all  over  his  face,  and  said,  — 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  n't  know  it,  Gilbert  I  'm 
sure  Sally  would  n't  care ;  you  're  almost  like  a  brother  to 
her." 

"What?"  Gilbert  asked,  yet  with  a  quick  suspicion  of 
the  coming  intelligence. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  know  well  enough,  old  fellow.  I  asked 
her  that  night,  and  it 's  all  right  between  us.  What  do 
you  say  to  it,  now  ?  " 

"  Mark,  I  'm  glad  of  it ;  I  wish  you  joy,  with  all  my 
heart  1 "  Gilbert  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  as  he  turned 
and  looked  squarely  into  Mark's  half-bashful  yet  wholly 
happy  face,  he  remembered  Martha's  words,  at  their  last 
mterview. 

"  You  are  like  a  brother  to  me,  Mark,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  shall  have  my  secret  What  would  you  say  if  I  had 
done  the  same  thing  ?  " 

«  No  ?  "  Mark  exclaimed ;  "  who  ?  " 

"Guess!" 

"Not  — not  Martha?" 

Gilbert  smiled.  , 

"  By  tlie  Lord !  It 's  the  best  day's  work  you  *ve  ever 
done!  Gi'  mo  y'r  hand  ag'in;  we  '11  stand  by  eatih  other 
faster  than  ever,  now  !  " 

Wlien  they  stopped  at  Fairthom's,  the  significant  pre»* 
sure  of  Gilbert's  hand  brought  a  blush  into  Sally's  cheek  j 
but  when*Mark  met  Martha  with  his  tell-tale  face,  she  aa* 
.  Bwered  with  a  proud  and  tender  smile. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  M 

Gilbert's  first  business,  after  his  return,  was  to  have  a 
consultation  with  Miss  Betsy  Lavender,  who  alone  knew  of 
the  suspicious  attaching  to  Alfred  Barton.  The  spinster 
had,  in  the  mean  time,  made  the  matter  the  subject  of  pro- 
found and  somewhat  painful  cogitation.  She  had  ran- 
sacked  her  richly  stored  memory  of  persons  and  events, 
until  her  brain  was  like  a  drawer  of  tumbled  clothes  ;  had 
spent  hours  in  laborious  mental  research,  becoming  so  ab- 
sorbed thdt  she  sometimes  gave  crooked  answers  when 
spoken  to,  and  was  haunted  with  a  terrible  dread  of  hav« 
ing  thought  aloud  ;  and  had  questioned  the  oldest  gossips 
right  and  left,  coming  as  near  the  hidden  subject  as  she 
dared.  When  they  met,  she  communicated  the  result  to 
Gilbert  in  this  wise  : 

"  'T  a'n't  agreeable  for  a  body  to  allow  they  're  flura- 
muxed,  but  if  I  a'n't,  this  time,  1  'm  mighty  near  onto  it. 
It 's  like  lookin'  for  a  set  o'  buttons  that  '11  match,  in  a  box 
full  o'  tail-ends  o'  things.  This'n  'd  do,  and  that'n  'd  do ; 
but  you  can't  put  this'n  and  that'n  together ;  and  here  *8 
got  to  be  square  work,  everything  fittin'  tight  and  hangin' 
plumb,  or  it  '11  be  throwed  back  onto  your  hands,  anc  all  to 
be  done  over  ag'in.  I  dunno  when  I  've  done  so  much 
head-work  and  to  no  purpose,  follerin'  here  and  guessin' 
there,  and  nosin'  into  everything  that 's  past  and  gone ;  and 
so  my  opinion  is,  whether  you  like  it  or  not,  but  never 
mind,  all  the  same,  I  can't  do  no  more  than  give  it,  that 
we  'd  better  drop  what 's  past  and. gone,  and  look  a  little 
more  into  these  present  times  !  " 

"  Well,  Betsy,"  said  Gilbert,  with  a  stern,  determined 
fece,  "  tliis  is  what  I  shall  do.  I  am  satisfied  that  Barton 
is  connected,  in  some  way,  with  Sandy  Flash.  What  it  is, 
or  whether  the  knowledge  will  help  us,  I  can't  guess ;  but 
I  shall  force  Barton  to  tell  me !  " 

"  To  tell  me.  That  might  do,  as  far  as  it  goes,"  she  re- 
marked, Jtftcr  a  moment's  reflection.  "  It  won't  be  easy  j 
you  'U  have  to  threaten  as  well  as  coax,  but  I  guess  you 


266  ftlE  STORY  OF   KENN£Tt. 

can  git  it  out  of  him  in  the  long  run,  and  niayhe  I  can  help 
Ton  here,  two  bein*  better  than  one,  if  one  is  but  a  sheep's* 
head." 

♦'  I  don't  see,  Betsy,  that  I  need  to  call  on  you." 

"  This  way,  Gilbert  It 's  a  strong  p'int  o'  law,  I  've 
hcerd  tell,  not  that  I  know  much  o'  law.  Goodness  knows, 
nor  ever  want  to,  but  never  mind,  it 's  a  strong  p'int  when 
there  's  two  witnesses  to  a  thing,  —  one  to  clinch  what  the 
t'other  drives  in  ;  and  you  must  have  a  show  o'  law  to  work 
on  Alf.  Barton,  or  I  'm  much  mistaken  ! " 

Gilbert  reflected  a  moment.  "  It  can  do  no  harm,"  h^ 
then  said  ;  "  can  you  go  with  me,  now  ?  " 

"  Now  's  the  time  I  If  we  only  git  the  light  of  a  farden- 
candle  out  o'  him,  it  '11  do  me  a  mortal  heap  o'  good ;  for 
with  all  this  rakin'  and  scrapin'  for  nothin',  I  'm  like  a  heart 
pan  tin'  after  the  water-brooks,  though  a  mouth  would  be 
more  like  it,  to  my  thinkin',  when  a  body  's  so  awful  dry 
as  that  comes  to ! " 

The  two  thereupon  took  the  foot-path  down  through  the 
frozen  fields  and  the  dreary  timber  of  the  creek-side,  to 
the  Barton  fann-liouse.  As  they  approached  the  barn,  they 
saw  Alfred  Barton  sitting  on  a  pile  of  straw  and  watching 
Giles,  who  was  threshing  wheat.  He  seemed  a  little  sur- 
prised at  their  appearance ;  but  as  Gilbert  and  he  had  not 
met  since  their  interview  in  the  corn-field  before  the  for- 
mer's departure  for  Chester,  he  had  no  special  cause  for 
embarrassment. 

"  Come  into  the  house,"  he  said,  leading  the  way. 

"  No,"  Gilbert  answered, "  I  came  here  to  speak  with  you 
privately.     Will  you  walk  down  the  lane  ?  " 

"  No  objection,  of  course,"  said  Barton,  looking  from 
Gilbert  to  Miss  Lavender,  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity  and 
uneasiness.  "Good  news,  I  hope;  got  hold  of  Sandy*! 
tracks,  at  last  ?  " 

«  One  of  them." 

**  Ah,  you  don't  say  so  I    Where  ? ' 


THE  STOBY  OF  KENNETT.  267 

"Here!" 

Gilbert  stopped  and  faced  Barton.  They  were  beloir 
the  barn,  and  out  of  Giles's  bearing. 

"  Barton,"  he  resumed,  "  you  know  what  interest  I  have 
in  the  arrest  of  that  man,  and  you  won't  deny  my  right  to 
demand  of  you  an  account  of  your  dealings  with  Iiim. 
"When  did  you  first  make  his  acquaintance  ?  " 

"  I  've  told  you  that,  already ;  the  matter  has  been  fully 
talked  over  between  us,"  Barton  answered,  in  a  petulant 
tone. 

"  It  has  not  been  fully  talked  over.  I  require  to  know, 
first  of  all,  precisely  when,  and  under  what  circumstances, 
you  and  Sandy  Flash  came  together.  There  is  more  to 
come,  so  let  us  begin  at  the  beginning." 

^  Damme,  Gilbert,  i/oii  were  there,  and  saw  as  much  as  I 
did.  How  could  I  know  who  the  cursed  black-whiskered 
fellow  was  ?  " 

"But  you  found  it  out,"  Gilbert  persisted,  "and  the 
manner  of  your  finding  it  out  must  be  explained." 

Barton  assumed  a  bold,  insolent  manner.  "  I  don't  see 
as  that  follows,"  he  said.  "  It  has  nothing  in  the  world  to 
do  with  his  robbery  of  you ;  and  as  for  Sandy  Flash,  I  wish 
to  the  Lord  you  'd  get  hold  of  him,  yourself,  instead 
of  trying  to  make  mc  accountable  for  his  comings  and 
goings ! " 

*  Hn  's  tryin  to  fly  off  the  handle,"  Miss  Lavender  re- 
marked. "  I  'd  drop  that  part  o'  the  business  a  bit,  if  I 
was  you,  and  come  to  tlie  t'other  proof" 

"  "What  the  devil  have  you  to  do  here  ?  "  asked  Barton. 

"  'hliss  Betsy  is  here  because  I  asked  her,"  Gilbert  said. 
*  Because  all  that  passes  between  us  may  have  to  be  re- 
peated in  a  court  of  justice,  and  two  witnesses  are  better 
than  one ! " 

He  took  advantage  of  the  shock  which  these  words  pro- 
duced upon  Barton,  and  repeated  to  him  the  highwayman's 
declarations,  with  the  inference  they  might  bear  if  not  sat- 


£68  TOE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Isfactorily  explained.  "  I  kept  my  promise,"  he  added, 
"  and  said  nothing  to  any  living  soul  of  your  request  that 
I  should  carry  money  for  you  to  Chester.  Sandy  Flash's 
information,  therefore,  must  have  come,  either  directly  or 
indirectly,  from  you," 

Barton  had  listened  with  open  mouth  and  amazed  eyes. 

"  Why,  the  man  is  a  devil ! "  he  cried.  "  I,  neither, 
never  said  a  word  of  the  matter  to  any  living  soul ! " 

"  Did  you  really  send  any  money  T"  Gilbert  asked. 

"  That  I  did !  I  got  it  of  Joel  Ferris,  and  it  happened 
he  was  bound  for  Chester,  the  very  next  day,  on  his  own 
business ;  and  so,  instead  of  turning  it  over  to  me,  he  just 
paid  it  there,  according  to  my  directions.  You  '11  under- 
stand, this  is  between  ourselves  ?  " 

He  darted  a  sharp,  suspicious  glance  at  Miss  Betsy  Lav- 
ender, who  gravely  nodded  her  head. 

"  The  difficulty  is  not  yet  explained,"  said  Gilbert,  "  and 
perhaps  you  '11  now  not  deny  my  right  to  know  something 
more  of  your  first  acquaintance  with  Sandy  Flash  ?  " 

"  Have  it  then  ! "  Barton  exclaimed,  desperately  —  "  and 
much  good  may  it  do  you !  I  thought  his  name  was  For- 
tune, as  much  as  you  did,  till  nine  o'clock  that  night,  when 
he  put  a  pistol  to  my  breast  in  the  woods  !  If  you  think 
I  'm  colloguing  with  him,  why  did  he  rob  me  under  threat 
of  murder,  —  money,  watch,  and  everything  ?  " 

"  Ah-ha !  "  said  Miss  Lavender,  "  and  so  that 's  the  way 
your  watch  has  been  gittin'  mended  all  this  while  ?  Main- 
spring broke,  as  I  've  heerd  say ;  well,  I  don't  wonder ! 
Gilbert,  I  guess  this  much  is  true.  Alf  Barton  'd  never 
live  so  long  without  that  watch,  and  that  half-peck  o'  seals, 
if  he  could  help  it!" 

"  This,  too,  may  as  well  be  kept  to  ourselves,"  Barton 
suggested.  "  It  is  n't  agreeable  to  a  man  to  have  it  known 
that  he  's  been  so  taken  in  as  I  was,  and  that 's  just  the 
reason  why  I  kept  it  to  myself;  and,  of  course,  I  should  n*t 
like  it  to  get  around." 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  26? 

Gilbert  could  do  no  less  than  accept  this  part  of  the 
story,  and  it  rendered  his  later  surmises  untenable.  Bui 
the  solution  whicli  lie  souglit  was  as  far  off  as  ever. 

"  Barton,"  lie  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "will  you  do  your 
best  to  help  me  in  finding  out  how  Sandy  Flash  got  the 
knowledge  ?  " 

*'  Only  show  me  a  way  I  The  best  would  be  to  catcb 
him  and  get  it  from  his  own  mouth." 

lie  looked  so  earnest,  so  eager,  and  —  as  far  as  the  traces 
of  cunning  in  his  face  would  permit  —  so  honest,  that  Gil- 
bert yielded  to  a  sndden  impulse,  and  said, — 

"  I  believe  you,  Barton.  I  've  done  yon  wrong  in  my 
thoughts,  —  not  willingly,  for  I  don't  want  to  think  badly 
of  you  or  any  one  else,  —  but  because  circumstances  seemed 
to  drive  me  to  it.  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had 
told  me  of  your  robbery  at  the  start." 

"  You  're  right  there,  Gilbert !  I  believe  I  was  an  out- 
spoken fellow  enough,  when  I  was  young,  and  all  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  but  the  old  man  's  driven  me  into  a  curst  way  of 
Ivccping  dark  about  everything,  and  so  I  go  on  heaping  up 
trouble  for  myself." 

"  Trouble  for  myself.  Alf.  Barton,"  said  Miss  Lavender, 
"  that  's  the  truest  word  you  've  said  this  many  a  day. 
Murder  will  out,  you  know,  and  so  will  robbery,  and  so 
will  —  other  things.  More  o'  your  doin's  is  known,  not 
that  they  're  agrecabler,  but  on  the  contrary,  quite  the 
reverse,  and  as  full  need  to  be  explained,  though  it  don't 
seem  to  matter  much,  yet  it  may,  who  can  tell  ?  And  now 
look  hero,  Gilbert ;  my  crow  is  to  be  picked,  and  you  've 
Been  the  color  of  it,  but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  since 
Martha's  told  the  Doctor,  it  can't  make  much  difference  to 
you.    And  this  is  all  between  ourselves,  you  understand  ?  " 

The  last  words  were  addressed  to  Barton,  with  a  comi- 
cal, unconscious  imitation  of  his  own  manner.  He  guessed 
something  of  what  was  coming,  though  not  the  whole  of  it^ 
and  again  became  visibly  uneasy ;  but  he  stammered  out,— 


i70  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  Yes ;  oh,  yes !  of  course." 

Gilbert  could  form  a  tolerably  correct  idea  of  the  shape 
and  size  of  Miss  Lavender's  crow.  He  did  not  feel  sure 
that  this  was  the  proper  time  to  have  it  picked,  or  even  tliat 
it  should  be  picked  at  all ;  but  he  imagined  that  Miss  Lav- 
ender had  either  consulted  Martha  Deane,  or  that  she  had 
wise  reasons  of  her  own  for  speaking.  He  therefore  re- 
mained silent. 

"  First  and  foremost,"  she  resumed,  "  I  '11  tell  you,  Alf. 
Barton,  what  we  know  o'  your  doin's,  and  then  it 's  for  you 
to  judge  whether  we  '11  know  any  more.  Well,  you  've 
been  tryin'  to  git  Martha  Deane  for  a  wife,  without  wantin* 
her  in  your  heart,  but  rather  the  contrary,  though  it  seems 
queer  enough  when  a  body  comes  to  think  of  it,  but  never 
mind  ;  and  your  father  's  druv  you  to  it ;  and  you  were  of 
a  cold  shiver  for  fear  she  'd  take  you,  and  yet  you  want  to 
let  on  it  a'n't  settled  betwixt  and  between  you  —  oh,  you 
need  n't  chaw  your  lips  and  look  yaller  about  the  jaws,  it 's 
the  Lord's  truth ;  and  now  answer  me  this,  what  do  you 
mean  ?  and  maybe  you  '11  say  what  right  have  I  got  to  ask, 
but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  if  I  have  n't,  Gilbert  Potter 
has,  for  it 's  him  that  Martha  Deane  has  promised  to  '^ake 
for  a  husband ! " 

It  was  a  day  of  surprises  for  Barton.  In  his  astonish- 
ment at  the  last  announcement,  he  took  refuge  from  the 
horror  of  Miss  Lavender's  first  revelations.  One  thing 
was  settled,  —  all  the  fruits  of  his  painful  and  laborious 
plotting  were  scattered  to  the  winds.  Denial  was  of  no 
use,  but  neither  could  an  honest  explanation,  even  if  he 
should  force  himself  to  give  it,  be  of  any  possible  service. 

"  Gilbert,"  he  asked,  '•  is  this  true  ?  —  about  i/ou,  I  mean." 

"Martha  Deane  and  I  are  engaged,  and  were  already  at 
the  time  Avhen  you  addressed  her,"  Gilbert  answered. 

*'  Good  heavens !  1  had  n't  the  slightest  suspicion  of  ib 
Well  —  I  don't  begrude  you  your  luck,  and  of  course  1 11 
draw  back^  and  never  say  another  word,  now  or  ever." 


T&E  STORY   OF   KKNNETT.  STl 

'*Tou  would  n't  ha'  been  comfortable  with  Martha  Dcane^ 
anyhow,"  Miss  Lavender  grimly  remarked.  "'T  is  n't 
good  to  hitch  a  colt-horse  and  an  old  spavined  critter  in 
one  team.  But  that 's  neither  here  nor  there  ;  you  ha'  n't 
told  us  why  you  made  up  to  her  for  a  purpose,  and  kep'  on 
pretendic'  she  did  n't  know  her  own  mind." 

"  I  've  promised  Gilbert  that  I  won't  interfere,  and  that  'a 
enough,"  said  Barton,  doggedly. 

Miss  Lavender  was  foiled  for  a  moment,  but  she  pres- 
ently returned  to  the  attack.  "  I  dunno  as  it 's  enough, 
after  what 's  gone  before,"  she  said.  "  Could  n't  you  go  a 
step  furder,  and  lend  Gilbert  a  helpin'  hand,  whenever  and 
whatever  ?  " 

"  Betsy  1 "  Gilbert  exclaimed. 

"  Let  me  alone,  lad !  I  don't  speak  in  Gilbert's  namt^ 
nor  yet  in  Martha's ;  only  out  o'  my  own  mind.  I  don't 
ask  you  to  do  anything,  but  I  want  to  know  how  it  stands 
with  your  wllin'ness." 

"  I  'vc  offered,  more  than  once,  to  do  him  a  good  turn, 
if  I  could  ;  but  I  guess  my  help  would  n't  be  welcome," 
Barton  answered.  The  strtig  of  the  suspicion  rankled  in 
his  mind,  and  Gilbert's  evident  aversion  sorely  wounded 
his  vanity. 

"  Would  n't  be  welcome.  Then  I  '11  only  say  this  ; 
maybe  1  've  got  it  in  my  power,  and  't  is  n't  sayin'  much, 
for  the  mouse  gnawed  the  mashes  o'  the  lion's  net,  to  help 
you  to  what  you  'ro  after,  bein'  as  it  is  n't  Martha,  and 
can't  be  her  money.  S'pose  I  did  it  o'  my  own  accord, 
leavin'  you  to  feel  beholden  to  me,  or  not,  after  all 's  said 
and  done  ?  " 

But  Alfred  Barton  was  proof  against  even  this  assault 
He  was  too  dejected  to  enter,  at  once,  into  a  new  plot,  the 
issue  of  which  would  probably  be  as  fruitless  as  the  others. 
He  had  already  accepted  a  sufficiency  of  shame,  for  one 
day.  This  last  confession,  if  made,  would  place  his  char- 
acter in  a  still  grosser  and  meaner  light  j  while,  if  with 


272  THE  STORt  OF  KENNETT. 

held,  the  xii-explained  motive  might  be  presented  as  a 
partial  justification  of  his  course.  He  had  been  surprised 
into  damaging  admissions ;  but  here  he  would  take  a  fira. 
stand. 

"  You  're  right  so  far,  Betsy,"  he  said,  "  that  I  kid  a 
reason  —  a  good  reason,  it  seemed  to  me,  but  I  may  be 
mistaken  —  for  what  I  did.  It  concerns  no  one  under 
Heaven  but  my  own  self;  and  though  I  don't  doubt  your 
willingness  to  do  me  a  good  turn,  it  would  make  no  diflcr- 
ence  —  you  could  n't  help  one  bit.  I  've  given  the  thing 
up,  and  so  let  it  be  ! " 

'J'here  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  and  the  two  cross- 
examiners  took  their  departure.  As  they  descended  tG 
the  creek,  Miss  Lavender  remarked,  as  if  to  herself,  — 

"No  use  —  it  can't  be  screwed  out  of  him  !  So  there 's 
one  cur'osity  the  less;  not  that  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  not 
knowin'  worries  more  than  knowin',  whatsoever  and  who- 
soever. And  I  dunno  as  I  think  any  the  wuss  of  him  for 
shuttin'  his  teeth  so  tight  onto  it." 

Alfred  Barton  waited  until  the  two  had  disappeared  be- 
hind the  timber  in  the  bottom>  Then  he  slowly  followed, 
stealing  across  the  fields  and  around  the  stables,  to  the 
back-door  of  the  Unicorn  bar-room.  It  was  noticed  that, 
although  he  drank  a  good  deal  that  aftenioon,  lis  ill- 
hiUQor  was  not,  as  usual,  diminished  thereby. 


THE   STORY    OF    KENNETT.  273 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DEB.   SMITH   TAKES   A   RESOLUTION. 

It  was  a  raw,  overcast  evening  in  the  early  part  of  Jan« 
aary  Away  to  the  west  there  was  a  brownish  glimmer  in 
the  dark-gray  sky,  denoting  sunset,  and  from  that  point 
there  came  barely  sufficient  light  to  disclose  the  prominent 
features  of  a  wild,  dreary,  uneven  landscape. 

The  foreground  was  a  rugged  clearing  in  the  forest,  just 
where  the  crest  of  a  high  hill  began  to  slope  rapidly  down 
to  the  Brandywine.  The  dark  meadows,  dotted  with  ir- 
regular lakes  of  ice,  and  long,  dirty  drifts  of  unmelted 
snow,  but  not  the  stream  itself,  could  be  seen.  Across  the 
narrow  valley  rose  a  cape,  or  foreland,  of  the  hills  beyond, 
timbered  nearly  to  the  top,  and  falling,  on  either  side,  into 
deep  lateral  glens,  —  those  warm  nooks  which  the  first 
settlers  loved  to  choose,  both  from  their  snug  aspect  of 
shelter,  and  from  the  cold,  sparkling  springs  of  water  which 
every  one  of  them  held  in  its  lap.  Back  of  the  summits 
of  all  the  hills  stretched  a  rich,  rolling  upland,  cleared  and 
mapped  into  spacious  fields,  but  showing  everywhere  an 
edge  of  dark,  wintry  woods  against  the  darkening  sky. 

In  the  midst  of  this  clearing  stood  a  rough  cabin,  oi 
rather  half-cabin,  of  logs ;  for  the  back  of  it  was  formed 
by  a  ledge  of  slaty  rocks,  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  height, 
which  here  cropped  out  of  the  hill-side.  The  raw  clay 
with  which  the  crevices  between  the  logs  had  been  stopped, 
had  fallen  out  in  many  places  ;  the  roof  of  long  strips  of 
peeled  bark  was  shrivelled  by  wind  and  sun,  and  held  in 
its  place  by  stones  and  heavy  branches  of  trees,  and  a 
U 


874  THE  STORY  OF  KENJfJETT. 

square  tower  of  plastered  sticks  in  one  comer  very  iniper 
fectly  suggested  a  chimney.  There  was  no  inclosed  patch 
of  vcgotable-groimd  near,  no  stable,  improvised  of  corn- 
shocks,  for  the  shelter  of  cow  or  pig,  and  the  habitation 
seemed  not  only  to  be  untenanted,  but  to  have  been  for- 
saken years  before. 

Yet  a  thin,  cautious  thread  of  smoke  stole  above  the 
rocks,  and  just  as  the  starless  dusk  began  to  deepen  into 
night,  a  step  was  heard,  slowly  climbing  upward  through 
the  rustling  leaves  and  snapping  sticks  of  the  forest.  A 
woman's  figure,  wearily  scaling  the  hill  under  a  load  which 
almost  concealed  the  upper  part  of  her  body,  for  it  con- 
sisted of  a  huge  wallet,  a  rattling  collection  of  articles  tied 
in  a  blanket,  and  two  or  three  bundles  slung  over  her 
shoulders  with  a  rope.  When  at  last,  panting  from  the 
strain,  she  stood  beside  the  cabin,  she  shook  herself,  and 
the  articles,  with  the  exception  of  the  wallet,  tumbled  to  the 
ground.  The  latter  she  set  down  carefully,  thrust  her  arm 
into  one  of  the  ends  and  drew  forth  a  heavy  jug,  which  she 
raised  to  her  mouth.  The  wind  was  rising,  but  its  voice 
among  the  trees  was  dull  and  muffled;  now  and  then  a 
flake  of  snow  dropped  out  of  the  gloom,  as  if  some  cow- 
ardly, insulting  creature  of  the  air  were  spitting  at  the 
world  under  cover  of  the  night. 

"  It 's  likely  to  be  a  good  night,"  the  woman  muttered, 
"  and  he  '11  be  on  the  way  by  this  time.  I  must  put  things 
to  rights." 

She  entered  the  cabin  by  a  narrow  door  in  the  southern 
end.  Her  first  care  was  to  rekindle  the  smouldering  fire 
from  a  store  of  boughs  and  dry  brushwood  piled  in  one 
corner.  When  a  little  flame  leaped  up  from  the  ashes,  it 
revealed  an  interior  bare  and  dismal  enough,  yet  very 
cheery  in  contrast  with  the  threatening  weather  outside. 
The  walls  were  naked  logs  and  rock,  the  floor  of  irregular 
flat  stones,  and  no  furniture  remained  except  some  part 
of  a  cupboard  or  dresser,  near  the  chimney.    Two  or  thre« 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  27a 

short  saw-cuts  of  logs  formed  as  many  seats,  and  the  only 
sign  of  a  bed  was  a  mass  of  dry  leaves,  upon  which  a 
blanket  had  been  thrown,  in  a  hollow  under  the  overhang- 
ing base  of  the  rock. 

Untying  the  blanket,  the  woman  drew  forth  three  oi 
four  rude  cooking  utensils,  some  dried  beef  and  smoked 
sausages,  and  two  huge  round  loaves  of  bread,  and  ar- 
ranged them  upon  the  one  or  two  remaining  shelves  of 
the  dresser.  Then  she  seated  herself  in  front  of  the  fire, 
staring  into  the  crackling  blaze,  which  she  mechanically 
fed  from  time  to  time,  muttering  brokenly  to  herself  in 
the  manner  of  one  accustomed  to  be  much  alone. 

"  It  was  a  mean  thing,  after  what  I  'd  said,  —  my  word 
used  to  be  wuth  somethin',  but  times  seems  to  ha'  changed. 
If  they  have,  wiiy  should  n't  I  change  with  'em,  as  well 's 
anybody  else  ?  Well,  Avhy  need  it  matter  ?  I  've  got  a 
bad  name.  .  .  .  No,  that  '11  never  do !  Stick  to  what 
you  're  about,  or  you  '11  be  wuthlesser,  even,  than  they  says 
you  are  !  " 

She  shook  her  hard  fist,  and  took  another  pull  at  the 

jug- 

"  It 's  well  I  laid  in  a  good  lot  o'  that^'  she  said.  "  No 
better  company  for  a  lonesome  night,  and  it'll  stop  his 
cussin',  I  reckon,  anyhow.     Eh  ?     What 's  that  ?  " 

From  the  wood  came  a  short,  quick  yelp,  as  from  some 
stray  dog.  She  rose,  slipped  out  the  door,  and  peered  into 
the  darkness,  which  was  full  of  gathering  snow.  After 
listening  a  moment,  she  gave  a  low  whistle.  It  was  not 
answered,  but  a  stealthy  step  presently  approached,  and  a 
form,  dividing  itself  from  the  gloom,  stood  at  her  side. 

«Allngiit,  Deb.?" 

"  Right  as  I  can  make  it.  I've  got  meat  and  drink,  and 
I  come  straight  from  the  Turk's  Head,  and  Jim  says  the 
Sheriff 's  gone  back  to  Chester,  and  there  's  been  nobody 
out  these  thiee  days.  Come  in  and  take  bite  and  sup,  and 
then  tell  me  everything." 


276  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Tliey  entered  the  cabin.  The  door  was  carefully  baned, 
and  then  Sandy  Flash,  throwing  off  a  heavy  overcoat,  such 
as  the  drovers  were  accustomed  to  wear,  sat  down  by  the 
fire.  His  face  was  redder  than  its  wont,  from  cold  and 
exposure,  and  all  its  keen,  fierce  lines  were  sharp  and 
hard.  As  he  warmed  his  feet  and  hands  at  the  blaze,  and 
watched  Deb.  Smith  while  she  set  the  meat  upon  the  coals, 
and  cut  the  bread  with  a  heavy  hunting-knife,  the  wary, 
defiant  look  of  a  hunted  animal  gradually  relaxed,  and  he 
said,  — 

"  Faith,  Deb.,  this  is  better  than  hidin'  in  the  frost  I 
believe  I  'd  ha'  froze  last  night,  if  I  had  n't  got  down  beside 
an  ox  for  a  couple  o'  hours.  It 's  a  dog's  life  they  've  led 
me,  and  I  'vc  had  just  about  enough  of  it" 

"  Then  why  not  give  it  up,  Sandy,  for  good  and  all  ? 
I  '11  go  out  with  you  to  the  Backwoods,  after  —  after  thing." 
is  settled." 

"  And  let  'em  brag  they  frightened  me  away !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, with  an  oath.  "  Not  by  a  long  shot,  Deb.  I  owe 
'em  a  score  for  this  last  chase  —  I  '11  make  the  rich  men 
o'  Chester  County  shake  in  their  shoes,  and  the  officers  o 
the  law,  and  the  Volunteers,  damme !  before  I  've  done 
with  'em.  When  I  go  away  for  good,  I  '11  leave  somethin' 
behind  me  for  them  to  remember  me  by !  " 

"  Well,  never  mind  ;  eat  a  bit  —  the  meat 's  ready,  and 
see  here,  Sandy  !  I  carried  this  all  the  way." 

He  seized  the  jug  and  took  a  long  draught  **  You  *re 
a  good  'un.  Deb.,"  he  said.  "  A  man  is  n't  half  a  man 
when  his  belly  's  cold  and  empty." 

He  fell  to,  and  ate  long  and  ravenously.  Warmed  at 
last,  both  by  fire  and  fare,  and  still  more  by  his  frequent 
potations,  he  commenced  the  story  of  his  disguises  and 
escapes,  laughing  at  times  with  boisterous  self-admiration, 
swearing  brutally  and  bitterly  at  others,  over  the  relentless 
energy  with  which  he  had  been  pui-sued.  Deb.  Smith 
Ibtened  with  eager  interest,  slapping  him  upon  the  back 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  277 

iritli  a  force  of  approval  which  would  have  felled  an  ordi- 
nary man,  but  which  Sandy  Flash  cheerfully  accepted  as 
e  caress. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  at  the  close.  "  after  I  sneaked  be^ 
tween  Potter's  troop  and  the  SherifTs,  and  got  down 
into  tlie  loAver  corner  o'  the  county,  I  managed  to  jump 
aboard  a  grain-sloop  bound  for  Newport,  but  they  were 
froze  in  at  the  mouth  o'  Christeen  ;  so  I  went  ashore, 
dodged  around  Wilmington,  (where  I  'm  rather  too  well 
known,)  and  come  up  Whitely  Creek  as  a  drover  from 
Mar'land.  But  from  Grove  up  to  here,  I  've  had  to  look 
out  mighty  sharp,  takin'  nigh  onto  two  days  for  what  I 
could  go  straight  through  in  half  a  day." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  're  safe  here,  Sandy,"  she  said ; 
••they  '11  never  think  o'  lookin'  for  you  twice't  in  the  same 
place.  Why  did  n't  you  send  word  for  me  before  ?  You  've 
kep'  me  a  mortal  long  time  a-waitin',  and  down  on  the 
Woodrow  farm  would  ha'  done  as  well  as  here." 

"  It 's  a  little  too  near  that  Potter.  He  'd  smell  me  out 
as  quick  as  if  I  was  a  skunk  to  windward  of  him.  Besides, 
it 's  time  I  was  pitchin'  on  a  few  new  boles ;  we  must  talk 
it  over  together,  Deb." 

He  lifted  the  jug  again  to  his  mouth.  Deb.  Smith,  al- 
though she  had  kept  nearly  even  pace  with  him,  was  not 
so  sensible  to  the  potency  of  the  liquor,  and  was  watching 
for  the  proper  degree  of  mellowness,  in  order  to  broach 
the  subject  over  which  she  had  been  secretly  brooding 
since  his  arrival. 

"  First  of  all,  Sandy,"  she  now  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  Gilbert  Potter.  The  man  's  my  friend,  and  I 
thought  you  cared  enough  about  me  to  let  ray  friends 
alone." 

"  So  I  do,  Deb.,  when  they  let  me  alone.  I  had  a  right 
to  shoot  the  fellow,  but  I  let  him  off  easy,  as  much  for  youi 
Bake  as  because  he  was  carryin'  another  man's  money." 

•*  That 's  not  ti"ue ! "  she  cried     "  It  was  his  own  uionej 


27d  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

every  cent  of  it, —  hard-earned  money,  meant  to  pay  ofl 
his  debts ;  and  I  can  say  it  because  I  helped  him  earn  it 
mowin'  and  reapin'  beside  him  in  the  harvest-field,  thrashin 
beside  him  in  the  barn,  eatin'  at  his  table,  and  sleepin' 
under  his  roof.  I  gev  him  my  word  he  was  safe  from  you, 
but  you  've  made  me  out  a  liar,  with  no  more  thought  o' 
me  than  if  I  'd  been  a  stranger  or  an  enemy ! " 

"  Come,  Deb.,  don't  get  into  your  tantrums.  Potter  may 
be  a  decent  fellow,  as  men  go,  for  anything  I  know,  but 
you  're  not  beholden  to  him  because  he  treated  you  like  a 
Christian  as  you  are.  You  seem  to  forgit  that  he  tried  to 
take  my  life,  —  that  he  's  hardly  yet  giV  up  himtin'  me 
like  a  wild  beast !  Damn  him,  if  the  money  was  his,  which 
I  don't  believe,  it  would  n't  square  accounts  between  us. 
You  think  more  o'  his  money  than  o'  my  life,  you  huzzy  ! " 

"  No  I  don't,  Sandy !  "  she  protested,  "  no  I  don't.  You 
know  me  better  'n  that.  What  am  I  here  for,  to-night  ? 
Have  I  never  helped  you,  and  hid  you,  and  tramped  the 
country  for  you  back  and  forth,  by  day  and  by  night,  — 
and  for  what  ?  Not  for  money,  but  because  I  'm  your 
wife,  whether  or  not  priest  or  'squire  has  said  it.  I  thought 
you  cared  for  me,  I  did,  indeed ;  I  thought  you  might  do 
one  thing  to  please  me  !  " 

There  was  a  quivering  motion  in  the  muscles  of  her 
hard  face ;  her  lips  were  drawn  convulsively,  with  an  ex- 
pression which  denoted  weeping,  although  no  tears  came 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool !  "  Sandy  exclaimed.  "  S'pose  you 
have  served  me,  is  n't  it  somethin'  to  have  a  man  to  serve  ? 
What  other  husband  is  there  for  you  in  the  world,  than 
me,  —  the  only  man  that  is  n't  afeard  o'  your  fist  ?  You  Ve 
done  your  duty  by  me,  I  '11  allow,  and  so  have  I  done  mine 
by  you ! " 

"  Then,"  she  begged,  "  do  this  one  thing  over  and  above 
your  duty.  Do  it,  Sandy,  as  a  bit  o'  kindness  to  me,  and 
put  upou  me  what  work  you  please,  till  I  've  made  it  up 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  279 

to  you !  Y"ou  dunno  what  it  is,  maybe,  to  have  one  person 
in  the  world  as  shows  a  sort  o'  respect  for  you  —  tliat  givea 
you  his  hand  honestly,  hke  a  gentleman,  and  your  full 
Chris'en  name.  It  does  good  when  a  body  's  been  banged 
about  as  I  've  been,  and  more  used  to  curses  than  kind 
words,  and  not  a  friend  to  look  after  me  if  I  was  layin*  at 
Death's  door  —  and  I  don't  say  you  would  n't  come,  Sandy, 
but  you  can't  And  there  's  no  denyin'  that  he  had  the 
law  on  his  side,  and  is  n't  more  an  enemy  than  any  other 
man.  Maybe  he  'd  even  be  a  friend  in  need,  as  far  a&  he 
dared,  if  you  'd  only  do  it "  — 

"  Do  what  ?  What  in  the  Devil's  name  k  the  woman 
drivin'  at  ?  "  yelled  Sandy  Flash. 

"  Give  back  the  money  ;  it 's  his'n,  not  -Barton's,  —  I 
know  it  Tell  me  where  it  is,  and  I  '11  manage  the  whole 
thing  for  you.  It 's  got  to  be  paid  in  a  month  or  two,  folks 
says,  and  they  11  come  on  him  for  it,  maybe  take  and  sell 
his  farm  —  sell  th'  only  house,  Sandy,  where  I  git  my 
rights,  th'  only,  house  where  I  git  a  bit  o'  peace  an'  com 
fort !    You  would  n't  be  that  hard  on  me  ?  " 

The  highwayman  took  another  deep  drink  and  rose  to 
his  feet  His  face  was  stern  and  threatening.  "  I  've 
had  enough  o'  this  foolery,"  he  said.  "  Once  and  for  all 
Deb.,  don't  you  poke  your  nose  into  my  affairs !  Give 
back  the  money  ?  Tell  you  where  it  is  ?  Pay  him  for 
huntin'  me  down?  I  could  take  you  by  the  hair  and 
knock  your  head  ag'in  the  wall,  for  them  words !  " 

She  arose  also  and  confronted  him.  The  convulsive 
twitching  of  her  mouth  ceased,  and  her  face  became  as 
hard  and  defiant  as  his.  "  Sandy  Flash,  mark  my  words  !" 
she  exclaimed.  "  You  're  a-goin'  the  wrong  way,  when 
you  stop  takin'  only  from  the  Collectors  and  the  proud 
rich  men,  and  sparin'  the  poor.  Instead  o'  doin'  good  to 
balance  ths  bad,  it  '11  soon  be  all  bad,  and  you  no  better  'n 
a  common  thief!  You  need  n't  show  your  teeth;  it's 
true,  and  I  say  it  square  to  /r  face  1 " 


280  TEE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

She  saw  the  cruel  intensity  of  his  anger,  but  did  not 
flinch.  They  had  had  many  previous  quarrels,  in  which 
neither  could  claim  any  very  great  advantage  over  the 
other ;  but  the  highwayman  was  now  in  an  impatient  and 
exasperated  mood,  and  she  dared  more  than  she  suspected 
in  defying  him. 

"  You !  "  (the  epithet  he  used  cannot  be  written,) 

"will  you  stop  your  jaw,  or  shall  I  stop  it  for  you  ?  I  'm 
your  master,  and  1  give  you  your  orders,  and  the  first 
order  is.  Not  another  word,  now  and  never,  about  Potter 
or  his  money  ! " 

He  had  never  before  outraged  her  by  such  a  word,  nevei 
before  so  brutally  asserted  his  claim  to  her  obedience.  All 
the  hot,  indignant  force  of  her  fierce,  coarse  nature  rose  in 
resistance.  She  was  thoroughly  aroused  and  fearless. 
The  moment  had  come,  she  felt,  when  the  independence 
which  had  been  her  compensation  amid  all  the  hardships 
and  wrongs  of  her  life,  was  threatened,  —  when  she  must 
either  preserve  it  by  a  desperate  effort,  .or  be  trampled 
under  foot  by  this  man,  whom  she  both  loved  and  feared, 
and  in  that  moment,  hated. 

"I  '11  not  hold  myjaw!"  she  cried,  vi^ith  flashing  eyes. 
"  Not  even  at  your  biddin',  Sandy  Flash !  I  '11  not  rest  till 
I  have  the  money  out  o'  you ;  there 's  no  law  ag'inst  stealiu' 
from  a  thief!" 

The  answer  was  a  swift,  tremendous  blow  of  the  high- 
wayman's fist,  delivered  between  her  eyes.  She  fell,  and 
lay  for  a  moment  stunned,  the  blood  streaming  from  her 
face.  Then  with  a  rapid  movement,  she  seized  the  hunt- 
ing-knife which  lay  beside  the  fire,  and  sprang  to  her  feet 

The  knife  was  raised  in  her  right  hand,  and  her  impulse 
was  to  plunge  it  into  his  heart.  But  she  could  not  avoid 
his  eyes ;  they  caught  and  held  her  own,  as  if  by  some 
diabolical  fascination.  He  stood  motionless,  apparently 
awaiting  the  blow.  Nothing  in  his  face  or  attitude  ex- 
pressed fear;  only  all  the  power  of  the  man  seemed  to 


THE  STORY  OF   KENXETT.  281 

be  concentrated  in  his  gaze,  and  to  hold  her  back.  Th.6 
impulse  once  arrested,  he  knew,  it  would  not  return.  The 
eyes  of  each  were  fixed  on  the  other's,  and  several  minutes 
of  awful  silence  thus  passed. 

Finally,  Deb.  Smith  slightly  shuddered,  as  if  with  cold, 
her  hand  slowly  fell,  and  without  a  word  she  turned  away 
to  wash  her  bloody  face. 

Sandy  Flash  grinned,  took  another  drink  of  whiskey, 
resumed  his  seat  before  the  fire,  and  then  proceeded  to  fill 
his  pipe.  He  lit  and  smoked  it  to  the  end,  without  turning 
his  head,  or  seeming  to  pay  the  least  attention  to  her  move- 
ments. She,  meanwhile,  had  stopped  the  flow  of  blood 
from  her  face,  bound  a  rag  around  her  forehead,  and  lighted 
her  OAvn  pipe,  without  speaking.  The  highwayman  first 
broke  the  silence. 

"  As  I  was  a-sayin',"  he  remarked,  in  his  ordinary  tone, 
"  we  've  got  to  look  out  for  new  holes,  where  the  scent 
is  n't  so  strong  as  about  these.  What  do  you  think  o'  th' 
Octorara  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  "  she  asked.  Her  voice  was  hoarse  and 
strange,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it,  gazing  steadily  into 
the  fire  as  he  puffed  out  a  huge  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  Well,  pretty  well  down,"  he  said.  "  There  's  a  big  bit 
o'  woodland,  nigh  onto  two  thousand  acres,  belongin'  to 
somebody  in  Baltimore  that  does  n't  look  at  it  once't  in  ten 
years,  and  my  thinkin'  is,  it  'd  be  as  safe  as  the  Backwoods. 
I  must  go  to  —  it  's  no  difference  where  —  to-morrow 
momin',  but  I  '11  be  back  day  after  to-morrow  night,  and 
you  need  n't  stir  from  here  till  I  come.  You  've  grub 
enough  for  that  long,  eh  ?  " 

« It  '11  do,"  sle  nuittered. 

"  Then,  that 's  enough.  I  must  be  off  an  hour  before 
day,  and  I  'm  devilish  fagged  and  sleepy,  so  here  goes!" 

W^ith  these  words  he  rose,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
p:pe,  and  stretched  himself  on  the  bed  of  leaves.  She  con- 
tinued to  smoke  her  pipe. 


282  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  Deb.,"  he  said,  five  iiiimitcs  afterwards,  "  I  'm  not  sura 
o'  wakiii'.     You  look  out  for  me,  —  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  hear,"  slie  answered,  in  the  same  low,  hoarse  voice, 
without  turning  her  head.  In  a  short  time  Sandy  Flash's 
deep  breathing  announced  that  he  slept.  Then  she  tunied 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  grim,  singular  smile,  as  the  waver- 
ing fire-light  drew  clear  pictures  of  his  face  which  the 
darkness  as  constantly  wiped  out  again.  By-and-by  she 
noiselessly  moved  her  seat  nearer  to  the  wall,  leaned  her 
head  against  the  rough  logs,  and  seemed  to  sleep.  But, 
even  if  it  were  sleep,  she  was  conscious  of  his  least  move- 
ment, and  started  into  alert  wakefulness,  if  he  turned,  mut- 
tered in  dreams,  or  crooked  a  finger  among  the  dead 
leaves.  From  time  to  time  she  rose,  stole  out  of  the  cabin 
and  looked  at  the  sky.     Thus  the  night  passed  away. 

There  was  no  sign  of  approaching  dawn  in  the  dull, 
overcast,  snowy  air ;  but  a  blind,  animal  instinct  of  time 
belonged  to  her  nature,  and  about  two  hours  before  sun- 
rise, she  set  about  preparing  a  meal.  When  all  was  ready, 
she  bent  over  Sandy  Flash,  seized  him  by  the  shoulder,  and 
shook  his  eyes  open. 

"  Time  ! "  was  all  she  said. 

He  sprang  up,  hastily  devoured  the  bread  and  meat, 
and  emptied  the  jug  of  its  last  remaining  contents. 

"  Hark  ye,  Deb.,"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  finished, 
"  you  may  as  well  trudge  over  to  the  Turk's  Head  and  fill 
this  while  I  'm  gone.  AVe  '11  need  all  of  it,  and  more,  to- 
inorrow  night.  Here  's  a  dollar,  to  pay  for  't  Now  I  must 
be  on  the  tramp,  but  you  may  look  for  me  to-morrow,  au 
hour  after  sun." 

He  examined  his  pistols,  stuck  them  in  his  belt,  tbrew 
his  drover's  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  and  strode  out  of  tne 
cabin.  She  waited  until  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had 
died  away  in  the  cold,  dreary  gloom,  and  then  threw  her- 
self upon  the  pallet  which  he  had  vacated.  This  time  she 
slept  soundly,  until  hours  after  the  gray  winter  day  had 
come  up  the  skj. 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  288 

Her  eyes  were  nearly  closerl  by  the  sKvollen  flesh,  and 
she  laid  handfuls  of  snow  upon  her  face,  to  cool  tiie  iuflana- 
ation.  At  first,  her  movements  were  imcertain,  express- 
ing a  fierce  conflict,  a  painful  irresolution  of  feeling ;  she 
picked  up  the  hunting-knife,  looked  at  it  with  a  ghastly 
smile,  and  then  threw  it  from  her.  Suddenly,  however, 
her  features  changed,  and  every  trace  of  her  former  hesi- 
tation vanished.  After  hurriedly  eating  the  fragments  left 
fi-om  Sandy's  breakfast,  she  issued  from  tlie  cabin  and  took 
a  straight  and  rapid  course  eastward,  up  and  over  the  hill. 

During  the  rest  of  that  day  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
next,  the  cabin  was  deserted. 

It  was  almost  sunset,  and  not  more  than  an  hour  before 
Sandy  Flash's  promised  I'eturn,  when  Deb.  Smith  again 
made  her  appearance.  Her  face  was  pale,  (except  for  the 
dark  blotches  around  the  eyes,)  worn,  and  haggard ;  she 
seemed  to  have  grown  ten  years  older  in  the  interval. 

Her  first  care  was  to  rekindle  the  fire  and  place  the  re- 
plenished jug  in  its  accustomed  place.  Then  she  arranged 
and  rearranged  the  rude  blocks  which  served  for  seats,  the 
few  dishes  and  the  articles  of  food  on  the  shelf,  and,  when 
all  had  been  done,  paced  back  and  forth  along  the  narrow 
floor,  as  if  pushed  by  some  invisible,  tormenting  power. 

Finally  a  whistle  was  heard,  and  in  a  minute  afterwards 
Sandy  Flash  entered  the  door.  The  bright  blaze  of  the 
hearth  shone  upon  his  bold,  daring,  triumphant  face. 

"  That 's  right.  Deb.,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  dry  and  hungry, 
and  here  's  a  rabbit  you  can  skin  and  set  to  broil  in  no 
time.  Let 's  look  at  you,  old  gal !  The  devil !  —  I  did  n't 
mean  to  mark  you  like  that.  Well,  bygones  is  bygones, 
and  better  limes  is  a-comin'." 

"  Sandy  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden,  appealing  energy, 
«  Sandy  —  once't  more  1  Won't  you  do  for  me  what  I  want 
o'you?" 

His  face  darkened  in  an  instant.  "  Deb. ! "  was  all  the 
word  he  uttered,  but  she  imderstood  the  tone. 


284  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

He  took  off  his  pistol-belt  and  laid  it  on  the  shelf.  "Laj 
there,  pets  ! "  he  said ;  "  I  won't  want  you  to-night  A 
long  tramp  it  was,  and  I  'm  glad  it 's  over.  Deb.,  1  guess 
I  've  nigh  tore  off  one  o'  my  knee-buckles,  comin'  through 
the  woods." 

Placing  his  foot  upon  one  of  the  logs,  he  bent  down  to 
examine  the  buckle.  Quick  as  lightning,  Deb.,  who  was 
standing  behind  him,  seized  each  of  his  arms,  just  above 
the  elbows,  with  her  powerful  hands,  and  drew  them  to- 
wards each  other  upon  his  back.  At  the  same  time  she 
uttered  a  shrill,  wild  cry,  —  a  scream  so  strange  and  im- 
earthly  in  its  character  that  Sandy  Flash's  blood  chilled  to 
hear  it. 

"  Curse  you,  Deb.,  what  are  you  doing?  Are  you  clean 
uiad  ?  "  he  ejaculated,  struggling  violently  to  free  his  arms. 

"  Which  is  strongest  now .''  "  she  asked  ;  "  my  arms,  or 
your'n  ?  I  've  got  you,  I  '11  hold  you,  and  I  '11  only  let  go 
when  I  please  ! " 

He  swore  and  struggled,  but  he  was  powerless  in  her 
iron  grip.  In  another  minute  the  door  of  the  cabin  was 
suddenly  burst  open,  and  two  armed  men  sprang  upon  him. 
More  rapidly  than  the  fact  can  be  related,  they  snapped  a 
pair  of  heavy  steel  handcuffs  upon  his  wrists,  pinioned  his 
arms  at  his  sides,  and  bound  his  knees  together.  Then, 
and  not  till  then.  Deb.  Smith  relaxed  her  hold. 

Sandy  Flash  made  one  tremendous  muscular  effort,  to 
test  the  strength  of  his  bonds,  and  then  stood  motionless. 
His  white  teeth  flashed  between  his  parted  lips,  and  there 
was  a  dull,  hard  glare  in  his  eyes  which  told  that  though 
struck  dumb  with  astonishment  and  impotent  rage,  he  was 
still  fearless,  still  unsubdued.  Deb.  Smith,  behind  him, 
leaned  against  the  wall,  pale  and  panting. 

"  A  good  night's  work  ! "  remarked  Chaffey,  the  consta- 
ble, as  he  possessed  himself  of  the  musket,  pistol-belt,  and 
hiuiting-knifc.  "  I  guess  this  pitcher  won't  go  to  the  weU 
any  more" 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  88S 

"  We  11  see,"  Sandy  exclaimed,  with  a  sneer.  "  Yoii  *ve 
got  me,  not  through  any  phick  o'  your'n,  but  through  black, 
underlianded  treachery.  You  'd  better  double  chain  and 
handcuff  me,  or  I  may  be  too  much  for  you  yet ! " 

"  I  guess  you  '11  do,"  said  the  constable,  examining  the 
cords  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  which  his  assistant  had  in 
the  mean  time  fetched  from  without  "  I  '11  even  untie 
your  knees,  for  you  've  to  walk  over  the  hill  to  the  next 
farm-house,  where  we  '11  find  a  wagon  to  carry  you  to 
Chester  jail.  I  promise  you  more  comfoilable  quaitcrs 
than  these,  by  daylight." 

The  constable  then  turned  to  Deb.  Smith,  who  had 
neither  moved  nor  spoken. 

"  You  need  n't  come  with  us  without  you  want  to,"  he 
said.  "  You  can  get  your  share  of  the  money  at  any  time ; 
but  you  must  remember  to  be  ready  to  appear  and  testify, 
when  Court  meets." 

"^Must  I  do  that?"  she  gasped. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  !  It 's  a  reg'lar  part  of  the  trial,  and 
^an't  be  left  out,  though  there  's  enough  to  hang  the  fellow 
ten  times  over,  without  you." 

The  two  unbound  Sandy  Flash's  knees  and  placed  them- 
jelves  on  each  side  of  him,  the  constable  holding  a  cocked 
pistol  in  his  right  hand. 

"  March  is  the  word,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  highwayman.  "  WeR, 
I  'm  ready.  Potter  was  right,  after  all ;  he  said  there  'd  be 
a  curse  on  the  money,  and  there  is  ;  but  I  never  guessed  the 
curse  'd  come  upon  me  through  yoti,  Deb. ! " 

"  Oh,  Sandy  ! "  she  cried,  starting  forward,  "  you  druv 
me  to  it !  The  curse  was  o'  your  own  makin'  —  and  I  gev 
you  a  last  chance  to-night,  but  you  th rowed  it  from  you  1" 

"  Very  well,  Deb,"  he  answered,  *'  if  I  've  got  my  curse, 
don't  think  you  '11  not  have  your'n  !  Go  down  to  Chester 
and  git  your  blood-money,  and  see  what  '11  come  of  it,  and 
what  '11  come  to  you  I " 

He  turned  towards  her  as  he  spoke,  and  the  expression 


286  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

of  his  face  seemed  so  frightful  that  she  shuddered  and  cov 
ered  her  eyes.  The  next  moment,  the  old  cahin  dooi 
creaked  open,  fell  back  with  a  crash,  and  she  was  alone. 

She  stared  around  at  the  dreary  walls.  The  sound  of 
their  footsteps  had  died  away,  and  only  the  winter  night- 
wind  wailed  through  the  crannies  of  the  hut.  Accustomed 
as  she  was  to  solitary  life  and  rudest  shelter,  and  to  the 
companionship  of  her  superstitious  fancies,  she  had  never 
before  felt  such  fearful  loneliness,  such  overpowering  dread. 
She  heaped  sticks  upon  the  fire,  sat  down  before  it,  and 
drank  from  the  jug.  Its  mouth  was  still  wet  from  his  lips, 
and  it  seemed  that  she  was  already  drinking  down  tlie  com- 
mencement of  the  curse. 

Her  face  worked,  and  hard,  painful  groans  burst  from 
her  lips.  She  threw  herself  upon  the  floor  and  grovelled 
there,  until  the  woman's  relief  which  she  had  almost  un- 
learned forced  its  forgotten  way,  through  cramps  and  ago- 
nies, to  her  eyes.  In  the  violent  passion  of  her  weeping 
and  moaning,  God  saw  and  pitied,  that  night,  the  struggles 
of  a  dumb,  ignorant,  yet  not  wholly  darkened  nature. 

Two  hours  afterwards  she  arose,  sad,  stern,  and  deter- 
mined, packed  together  the  things  she  had  brought  with 
her,  quenched  the  fire  (never  again  to  be  relighted)  upon 
the  hearth,  and  took  her  way,  through  cold  and  darkaeai, 
down  the  valley. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 


CUAPTER  XXV. 

TWO    ATTEilPTS. 

TiiE  news  of  Sand}  Flash's  capture  ran  like  wiUIfire 
through  the  county.  As  the  details  became  more  correctly 
known,  there  was  great  rejoicing  but  greater  surprise,  foi 
Deb.  Smith's  relation  to  the  robber,  though  possibly  sur- 
mised by  a  few,  was  unsuspected  by  the  community  at 
large.  In  spite  of  the  service  which  she  had  rendered  by 
betraying  her  paramour  into  the  hands  of  justice,  a  bitter 
feeling  of  hostility  towards  her  was  developed  amonsr  the 
people,  and  she  was  generally  looked  upon  as  an  accom- 
plice to  Sandy  Flash's  crimes,  who  had  turned  upon  him 
only  when  she  had  ceased  to  profit  by  them. 

The  public  attention  was  thus  suddenly  drawn  away  from 
Gilbert  Potter,  and  he  Avas  left  to  stiuggle,  as  he  best 
might,  against  the  difficulties  entailed  by  his  loss.  He  had 
corresponded  with  IMr.  Trainer,  the  conveyancer  in  Ches- 
ter, and  had  learned  that  the  money  still  due  must  not  only 
be  forthcoming  on  the  first  of  April,  but  that  it  probably 
couid  not  be  obtained  there.  The  excitement  for  buying 
lands  along  the  Alleghany,  Ohio,  and  Beaver  rivers,  in 
western  Pennsylvania,  had  seized  upon  the  few  capitalists 
of  the  place,  and  Gilbert's  creditor  had  already  been  sub- 
jected to  inconvenience  and  possible  loss,  as  one  result  of 
the  robbery.  Mr.  Trainer  therefore  suggested  that  he 
should  make  a  new  loan  in  his  own  neighborhood,  where 
the  spirit  of  speculation  had  not  yet  reached. 

The  advice  was  prudent  and  not  unfriendly,  although  of 
a  kind  more  easy  to  give  than  to  carry  into  execution, 
Mark's  mouey-belt  had  been  restored,  greatly  against  the 


288  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

will  of  the  good-hearted  fellow  (who  would  have  cheerfullj 
lent  Gilbert  the  whole  amount  had  he  possessed  it),  and 
there  was  enough  grain  yet  to  be  threshed  and  sold,  to 
yield  something  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  ;  but  this  was 
all  which  Gilbert  could  count  upon  from  his  own  resources. 
Ho  might  sell  the  wagon  and  one  span  of  horses,  reducing 
by  their  value  the  sum  which  he  would  be  obliged  to  bor- 
row; yet  his  hope  of  recovering  the  money  in  another 
year  could  only  be  realized  by  retaining  them,  to  continue, 
from  time  to  time,  his  occupation  of  hauling  flour. 

Although  the  sympathy  felt  for  him  was  general  and 
very  hearty,  it  never  took  the  practical  form  of  an  offer  of 
assisfcmce,  and  he  was  far  too  proud  to  accept  that  plan  of 
relief  which  a  farmer,  whose  barn  had  been  struck  by 
lightning  and  consumed,  had  adopted,  the  previous  year,  — 
going  about  the  neighbo'-hood  with  a  subscription-list,  and 
soliciting  contributions,  flis  nearest  friends  were  as  poor 
as,  or  poorer  than,  himself,  and  those  able  to  aid  him  felt 
no  call  to  tender  their  services. 

Martha  Deane  knew  of  this  approaching  trouble,  not 
from  Gilbert's  own  lips,  for  she  had  seen  him  but  once  and 
very  briefly  since  his  return  from  the  chase  of  Sandy  Flash. 
It  was  her  cousin  Mark,  who,  having  entered  into  an  alli- 
ance, offensive  and  defensive,  with  her  lover,  betrayed  (con- 
sidering that  the  end  sanctioned  the  means)  the  confidence 
reposed  in  him. 

The  thought  that  her  own  coming  fortune  lay  idle,  while 
Gilbert  might  be  saved  by  the  use  of  a  twentieth  part  of  it, 
gave  Martha  Deane  no  peace.  The  whole  belonged  to 
him  prospectively,  yet  would  probably  be  of  less  service 
when  it  should  be  legally  her  own  to  give,  than  the  frag- 
ment which  now  would  lift  him  above  anxiety  and  humilia 
tion.  The  money  had  been  bequeathed  to  her  by  a  mater- 
nal aunt,  whose  name  she  bore,  and  the  provisions  by  which 
tlie  bequest  was  accompanied,  so  light  and  reasonable  b« 
fore  now  seemed  harsh  and  unkincL 


TOE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  289 

The  payment  of  the  whole  sum,  or  any  part  of  it,  she 
saw,  could  not  be  anticipated.  But  she  imagined  ihcre 
must  be  a  way  1o  obtain  a  loan  of  the  necessary  amount, 
with  the  bequest  as  security.  With  her.  ignorance  of  biisi* 
ncss  matters,  she  felt  the  need  of  counsel  in  this  emer- 
gency ;  yet  her  father  was  her  guardian,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  no  one  else  to  whom  she  could  properly  apply.  Not 
Gilbert,  for  she  fancied  he  might  reject  the  assistance  she 
designed,  and  therefore  she  meant  to  pay  the  debt  before  it 
became  due,  without  his  knowledge ;  nor  Mark,  nor  Farmer 
Fairthorn.  Betsy  Lavender,  when  appealed  to,  shook  her 
head,  and  remarked,  — 

"  Lord  bless  you,  child !  a  wuss  snarl  than  ever.  I  *m 
gittin'  a  bit  skeary,  when  you  talk  o'  law  and  money  mat- 
ters, and  that  's  the  fact.  Not  that  I  find  fault  with  your 
wishin'  to  do  it,  but  the  contrary,  and  there  might  be  ways, 
as  you  say,  only  I  'm  not  lawyer  enough  to  find  'em,  and  as 
to  advisin'  where  I  don't  see  my  way  clear.  Defend  me  from 
it!" 

Thus  thrown  back  upon  herself,  Martha  was  forced  to 
take  the  alternative  which  she  would  gladly  have  avoided, 
and  from  which,  indeed,  she  hoped  nothing,  —  an  appeal 
to  her  father.  Gilbert  Potter's  name  had  not  again  beet, 
mentioned  between  them.  She,  for  her  part,  had  striven  to 
maintain  her  usual  gentle,  cheerful  demeanor,  and  it  is 
probable  that  Dr.  Deane  made  a  similar  attempt ;  but  he 
could  not  conceal  a  certain  coldness  and  stiffness,  which 
made  an  uncomfortable  atmosphere  in  their  little  house- 
hold. 

"  "Well,  Betsy,"  Martha  said  (they  were  in  her  room,  up- 
stairs), "  Father  has  just  come  in  from  the  stable,  I  see. 
Since  there  is  no  other  way,  I  will  go  down  and  ask  his 
Advice." 

"  You  don't  mean  it,  child  !  "  cried  the  spinster. 

Martha  left  the  room,  without  answer. 

"  She 's  got  that  from  him,  anyhow,"  Aliss  Betsy  remarked^ 


890  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

"  and  which  o'  the  two  is  stiibbornest,  I  could  n*t  under 
tiike  to  say.  If  he  's  dead-set  on  the  wrong  side,  wnyi 
she 'sjist  as  dead-set  on  the  right  side,  and  that  makes  a 
mortal  difference. .  I  don't  see  why  I  should  bo  all  of  a 
trimble,  that  only  sets  here  and  waits,  while  she  's  stickin' 
her  head  into  the  lion's  mouth  ;  but  so  it  is !  Is  n't  about 
time  for  yoii  to  be  doin'  souicthin',  Betsy  Lavender ! " 

Martha  Deane  entered  the  front  sitting-room  with  a 
grave,  deliberate  step.  The  Doctor  sat  at  his  desk,  with  a 
pair  of  heavy  silver-rimmed  spectacles  on  his  nose,  looking 
over  an  antiquated  "Materia  Medica."  His  upper  lip 
seemed  to  have  become  harder  and  thinner,  at  the  expense 
of  the  under  one,  which  pouted  in  a  way  that  expressed 
vexation  and  ill-temper.  He  was,  in  fact,  more  annoyed 
than  he  would  have  confessed  to  any  human  being.  Alfred 
Barton's  visits  had  discontinued,  and  he  could  easily  gviess 
tlie  reason.  Moreover,  a  suspicion  of  Gilbert  Potter's  re 
lation  to  his  daughter  was  slowly  beginning  to  permeate 
the  neighborhood ;  and  more  than  once,  within  the  last  few 
days,  all  his  peculiar  diplomacy  had  been  required  to  parry 
a  direct  question.  He  foresaw  that  the  subject  would  soon 
come  to  the  notice  of  his  elder  brethren  among  the  Friends, 
v.'ho  felt  self-privileged  to  rebuke  and  remonstrate,  even  in 
family  matters  of  so  delicate  a  nature. 

It  was  useless,  the  Doctor  knew,  to  attempt  coercion  with 
Martha.  If  any  measure  could  succeed  in  averting  the 
tlireatened  shame,  it  must  be  kindly  persuasion,  coupled 
with  a  calm,  dispassionate  appeal  to  her  understanding. 
The  quiet,  gentle  way  in  which  she  had  met  his  anger,  he 
now  saw,  lad  left  the  advantage  of  the  first  encounter  on 
lier  side.  His  male  nature  and  long  habit  of  rule  made  an 
equal  self-control  very  difficult,  on  his  part,  and  he  resolved 
to  postpone  a  recurrence  to  the  subject  until  he  should  feel 
able  to  meet  his  daughter  with  her  own  weapons.  Proba- 
bly some  reflection  of  the  kir  d  then  occupied  his  mind,  in 
spite  of  the  "  Slateria  Medica  "  before  him. 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  f^i 

"Fatlier,"  said  Martha,  seating  herself  with  a  bit  of 
Bewing  in  her  hand,  *'  I  want  to  ask  tliec  a  few  questions 
about  business  matters." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  her.  "  "Well,  thee  's  taking  a  new 
turn,"  he  remarked.     "Is  it  anything  very  important?" 

•'  Very  important,"  she  answered ;  '•  it 's  about  my  OVTI 
fortune." 

'*  I  thought  thee  understood,  Martha,  that  that  mattei 
was  all  fixed  and  settled,  until  thee 's  twenty-five,  unless  — 
unless  "  — 

Here  the  Doctor  hesitated.  He  did  not  wish  to  intro- 
duce the  sore  subject  of  his  daughter's  marriage. 

"  I  know  what  thee  means,  father.  Unless  I  should 
Booner  marry,  with  tliy  consent.  ]5ut  I  do  not  expect  to 
marry  now,  and  tlierefore  do  not  ask  thy  permission.  What 
I  want  to  know  is,  whether  I  could  not  obtain  a  loan  of  a 
small  sum  of  money,  on  the  security  of  the  legacy  ?  " 

"  That   depends    on    circumstances,"   said   the    Doctor, 
slowly,  and  after  a  long  pause,  during  which  he  endeav 
ored  to  guess  his  daughter's  design.     "  It  might  be,  —  yes, 
it  might  be  ;   but,  Martha,  surely  thee  does  n't  want  for 
money  ?     Why  should  thee  borrow  ?  " 

"  Could  n't  thee  suppose,  father,  that  I  need  it  for  some 
good  purpose  ?  I  've  always  had  plenty,  it  is  true  ;  but  I 
don't  think  thee  can  say  I  ever  squandered  it  foolishly  or 
thoughtlessly.  This  is  a  case  where  1  wish  to  make  an 
investment,  —  a  permanent  investment." 

"Ah,  indeed?  I  always  fiincied  thee  cared  less  for 
money  than  a  prudent  woman  ought.  How  much  might 
this  investment  be  ?  " 

"About  six  hundred  dollars,"  she  answered. 

"  Six  hundred  !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor ;  "  that 's  a  large 
sum  to  venture,  a  large  sum  !  Since  thee  can  only  raise  it 
with  my  help,  thee  '11  certainly  admit  my  right,  as  thy  legal 
guardian,  if  not  as  thy  father,  to  ask  where,  how,  and  on 
vliat  secmity  the  money  will  be  invested? " 


292  THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT. 

Maltha  hesitated  only  long  enough  to  reflect  that  hef 
father's  assertion  was  probably  true,  and  without  his  aid 
she  could  do  nothing.  "  Father,"  she  then  said,  "/am  the 
security." 

"  I  don't  understand  thee,  child." 

"  I  mean  that  my  whole  legacy  will  be  responsible  to  the 
lender  for  its  repayment  in  three  years  from  this  time.  The 
security  /ask,  I  have  in  advance  ;  it  is  the  happiness  of  ray 
life ! " 

"  Martha !  thee  does  n't  mean  to  say  that  thee  would  "— 

Dr.  Deane  could  get  no  further.  Martha,  with  a  sorrow- 
ful half  smile,  took  up  his  word. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  would.  Lest  thee  should  not  have  un- 
derstood me  right,  I  repeat  that  I  would,  and  will,  lift  the 
mortgage  on  Gilbert  Potter's  farm.  He  has  been  very 
unfortunate,  and  there  is  a  call  for  help  which  nobody 
heeds  as  he  deserves.  If  I  give  it  now,  I  simply  give  a 
part  in  advance.     The  whole  will  be  given  afterwards." 

Dr.  Deane's  face  grew  white,  and  his  lip  trembled,  in 
spite  of  himself.  It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  he  ven- 
tured to  say,  in  a  tolerably  steady  voice,  — 

"  Thee  still  sets  up  thy  right  (as  thee  calls  it)  against 
mine,  but  mine  is  older  built  and  will  stand.  To  help  thee 
to  this  money  would  only  be  to  encoin-age  thy  wicked  fancy 
for  the  man.  Of  course,  I  can't  do  it ;  I  wonder  thee 
should  expect  it  of  me.  I  wonder,  indeed,  thee  should 
think  of  taking  as  a  husband  one  who  borrows  money  of 
thee  almost  as  soon  as  he  has  spoken  his  mind !" 

For  an  instant  Martha  Deane's  eyes  flashed.  " Father!* 
she  cried,  "it  is  not  so  !  Gilbert  doesn't  even  know  my 
desire  to  help  him.  I  must  ask  this  of  thee,  to  speak  no 
evil  of  him  in  my  hearing.  It  would  only  give  me  unne- 
cessary pain,  not  shake  my  faith  in  his  honesty  and  good- 
ness. I  see  thee  will  not  assist  me,  and  so  I  must  en- 
deavor to  find  whether  the  thing  cannot  be  done  without 
thy  assistance.      In  three  years  more  the  legacy  will  he 


THE   STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

mine  (  I  shall  go  to  Chester,  and  consult  a  lawyer,  whcthef 
my  own  note  for  that  time  could  not  be  accepted ! " 

"  I  can  spare  thee  the  trouble."  the  Doctor  said.  "  In 
case  of  thy  death  before  the  three  years  are  out,  who  is  to 
pay  the  note  ?  Half  the  money  falls  to  me,  and  half  to  thy 
unde  Richard.  Thy  aunt  Martha  was  \v1se.  It  truly  seems 
as  if  she  had  foreseen  just  what  has  happened,  and  meant 
to  baulk  thy  present  rashness.  Thee  may  go  to  Chester, 
and  welcome,  if  thee  doubts  my  word ;  but  unless  thee  can 
give  positive  assurance  that  thee  will  be  alive  in  three 
years'  time,  I  don't  know  of  any  one  foolish  enough  to 
advance  thee  money." 

The  Doctor's  words  were  cruel  enough  ;  he  might  have 
spared  his  triumphant,  mocking  smile.  Martha's  heart 
sank  within  her,  as  she  recognized  her  utter  helplessness. 
Not  yet,  however,  would  she  give  up  the  sweet  hope  of 
bringing  aid ;  for  Gilbert's  sake  she  would  make  another 
appeal. 

"  I  won't  charge  thee,  father,  with  being  intentionally  un- 
kind. It  would  almost  seem,  from  thy  words,  that  thee  is 
rather  glad  than  otherwise,  because  my  life  is  uncertain.  If. 
I  should  die,  would  thee  not  care  enough  for  my  memory  to 
pay  a  debt,  the  incurring  of  which  brought  me  peace  and 
happiness  during  life  ?  Tlien,  surely,  thee  would  forgive 
thy.heart  is  not  so  hard  as  thee  would  have  me  believe , 
thee  wishes  me  happiness,  I  cannot  doubt,  but  thinks  it  will 
come  in  thy  way,  not  in  mine.  Is  it  not  possible  to  grant 
me  this  —  only  this  —  and  leave  everything  else  to  time  ?  " 

Dr.  Deane  was  touched  and  softened  by  his  daughter's 
words.  Perhaps  he  might  even  have  yielded  to  her  en- 
treaty at  once,  had  not  a  harsh  and  selfish  condition  pre- 
sented itself  in  a  very  tempting  form  to  his  mind. 

•'  Martha,"  he  said,  "  I  fancy  that  thee  looks  upon  this 
matter  of  the  loan  in  the  light  of  a  duty,  and  will  jillow  that 
thy  motives  may  be  weighty  to  thy  own  mind.  I  ask  thee 
to  calm  thyself  and  consider  things  cleaily.    If  I  grant  thj 


294  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

request,  I  do  so  against  my  own  judgment,  yea,  —  since  it 
concerns  thy  interests, —  against  my  own  conscience.  This 
is  not  a  thincr  to  be  lightly  done,  and  if  1  should  jield,  I 
might  reasonably  expect  some  little  sacrifice  of  present 
inclination  —  yet  all  for  thy  future  good  —  on  thy  part 
I  would  cheerfully  borrow  the  six  hundred  dollars  for  thee, 
or  make  it  up  from  my  own  means,  if  need  be,  to  know  that 
the  prospect  of  thy  disgrace  was  averted.  Thee  sees  no 
disgrace,  I  am  aware,  and  pity  that  it  is  so ;  but  if  thy 
feeling  for  the  young  man  is  entirely  pure  and  unselfish,  ii 
should  be  enough  to  know  that  thee  had  saved  him  from 
ruin,  without  considering  thyself  bound  to  him  for  life." 

The  Doctor  sharply  watched  his  daughter's  face  while 
he  spoke.  She  looked  up,  at  first,  with  an  eager,  wonder- 
ing light  of  hope  in  her  eyes,  —  a  light  that  soon  died 
away,  and  gave  place  to  a  cloudy,  troubled  expression. 
Then  the  blood  rose  to  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  assxmied 
the  clear,  firm  curve  which  always  reflected  the  decisions  of 
ber  mind. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  see  thee  has  learned  how  to 
tempt,  as  well  as  threaten.  For  the  sake  of  doing  a  pres- 
ent good,  thee  would  have  me  bind  myself  to  do  a  life-long 
injustice.  Thee  would  have  me  take  an  external  duty  to 
balance  a  violation  of  the  most  sacred  conscience  of  my 
heart.  How  little  thee  knows  me !  It  is  not  alone  that  I 
am  necessary  to  Gilbert  Potter's  happiness,  but  also  that  he 
is  necessary  to  mine.  Perhaps  it  is  the  will  of  Heaven  that 
so  great  a  bounty  should  not  come  to  me  too  easily,  and  I 
must  bear,  without  murmuring,  that  my  own  father  is  set 
against  me.  Thee  may  try  me,  if  thee  desires,  for  the  com- 
ing three  yeare,  but  I  can  tell  thee  as  well,  now,  what  the 
end  will  be.  Why  not  rather  tempt  me  by  offering  the 
money  Gilbert  needs,  on  the  condition  of  my  giving  up  the 
rest  of  the  legacy  to  thee  ?  That  would  be  a  temptation, 
I  confess." 

**  No ! "  lie  exclaimed,  with  rising  exasperation,  "  if  thee 


THE  STORY  OF  KEXXETl  89B 

oas  hardened  thy  heart  against  all  my  counsels  for  thy 
good,  I  will  at  least  keep  my  own  conscience  free.  I  will 
not  help  thee  hy  so  much  as  the  moving  of  a  finger.  All  1 
can  do  is,  to  pray  that  thy  stubborn  mind  may  be  bcul^ 
and  gradually  led  back  to  the  Light  1 " 

He  put  away  the  book,  took  his  cane  and  broad-brimmed 
hat,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Martha  rose,  with  a 
sad  but  resolute  face,  and  went  up-stairs  to  her  chamber. 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender,  when  she  learned  all  that  had  been 
said,  on  both  sides,  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  great  agita- 
Hon  and  perplexity  of  mind.  She  stared  at  Martha  Deaue, 
without  seeming  to  see  her,  and  muttered  from  time  to  time 
such  fragmentary  phrases  as,  —  "If  I  was  right-down  sure," 
or,  "  It  'd  only  be  another  weepon  tried  and  throwed  away, 
at  the  wust" 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Betsy  ? "  Martha  finally 
asked. 

"  Thinkin'  of?  Well,  I  can't  rightly  tell  you.  It 's  a  bit 
o'  knowledge  that  come  in  my  way,  once't  upon  a  time, 
never  meauin'  to  make  use  of  it  in  all  my  bom  days,  and 
I  would  n't  now,  only  for  your  two  sakes  ;  not  that  it  con- 
cerns you  a  mite ;  but  nevef  mind,  there  's  ten  thousand 
ways  o'  workin'  on  men's  minds,  and  I  can't  do  no  more 
than  try  my  way." 

Thereupon  Miss  Lavender  arose,  and  would  have  de- 
scended to  the  encounter  at  once,  had  not  Martha  wisely 
entreated  her  to  wait  a  day  or  two,  until  the  irritation  aris- 
ing from  her  own  interview  had  had  time  to  subside  in  her 
fatlier's  mind. 

"  It 's  puttin'  me  on  nettles,  now  that  I  mean  fast  and  firm 
to  do  it ;  but  you  're  quite  right,  Martha,"  the  spinster  said. 

Three  or  four  days  afterwards  she  judged  the  proper 
ime  had  arrived,  and  boldly  entered  the  Doctor's  awful 
presence.  "  Doctor,"  she  began,  "  I  've  come  to  have  a  lit« 
tie  talk,  and  it 's  no  use  beatin'  about  the  bush,  plainness  o* 
speech  bcin'  one  o'  my  ways ;  not  that  folks  always  thinks 


296  THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT. 

it  a  virtue,  but  oftentimes  tlie  contrary,  and  so  may  yoti| 
maybe  ;  bui  when  there  's  a  worry  in  a  house,  it 's  better 
whatsoever  and  whosoever,  to  liave  it  come  to  a  head  than 
go  on  achin'  and  acliin',  lilte  a  blind  bile ! " 

"  Il'm,"  snorted  the  Doctor,  "I  see  what  thee 's  driving 
at,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  thee  at  once,  that  if  thee  comes 
to  me  from  Martlia,  I  've  heard  enough  from  her,  and  more 
than  enough." 

"  More  'n  enough,"  repeated  Miss  Lavender.  "  But 
you  're  wrong.  I  come  neither  from  Martha,  nor  yet  from 
Gilbert  Potter ;  but  I  've  been  thinkin'  that  you  and  me, 
bein'  old, — in  a  measure,  that  is, — and  not  so  direckly  con- 
cerned, might  talk  the  thing  over  betwixt  and  between  us, 
and  maybe  come  to  a  better  understandin'  for  both  sides." 

Dr.  Deane  was  not  altogether  disinclined  to  accept  this 
proposition.  Although  Miss  Lavender  sometimes  annoyed 
him,  as  she  rightly  conjectured,  by  her  plainness  of  speech, 
he  had  great  respect  for  her  shrewdness  and  her  practical 
wisdom.  If  he  could  but  even  partially  win  her  to  his 
views,  she  would  be  a  most  valuable  ally. 

"  Then  say  thy  say,  Betsy,"  he  assented. 

"Thy  say,  Betsy.  Well,  first  and  foremost,  I  guess  we 
may  look  upon  Alf.  Barton's  courtin'  o'  Martha  as  broke 
off  for  good,  the  fact  bein'  that  he  never  wanted  to  have 
her,  as  he  s  told  me  since  with  his  own  mouth." 

"  What  ?  "  Dr.  Deane  exclaimed. 

"  With  his  own  mouth,"  Miss  Lavender  repeated.  "And 
as  to  his  reasons  for  lettin'  on,  I  don't  know  'em.  Maybo 
you  can  guess  'em,  as  you  seem  to  ha'  had  eveiything  cut 
and  dried  betwixt  and  between  you ;  but  that 's  neither 
here  nor  there  —  Alf.  Barton  bein'  out  o'  the  way,  why, 
the  coast 's  clear,  and  so  Gilbert's  case  is  to  be  considered 
by  Itself;  and  let's  come  to  the  p'int,  namely,  what  you've 
got  ag'in  him  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  tliee  can  ask,  Betsy !  He 's  poor,  he 's  base- 
born,  without  position  or  influence  in  tie  neighborhood,— 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  297 

m  no  way  a  luisband  for  Martlia  Deane !  If  her  head  *a 
turned  because  he  has  been  robbed,  and  man-ellously  saved, 
and  talked  about,  I  suppose  I  must  wait  till  she  comes  to 
her  right  senses." 

"  I  rather  expect,"  Miss  Lavender  gravely  remarked, 
"tnat  they  were  bespoke  before  all  that  happened,  and  it's 
not  a  case  o'  suddent  fancy,  but  somethin'  bred  in  the  bone 
and  not  to  be  cured  by  plasters.  AVe  won't  talk  o*  that  now, 
but  come  back  to  Gilbert  Potter,  and  I  dunno  as  you  'ro 
quite  right  in  any  way  about  his  bein's  and  doin's.  With 
that  farm  o'  his'n,  he  can't  be  called  poor,  and  1  shoidd  n't 
wonder,  though  I  can't  give  no  proofs,  but  never  mind, 
wait  awhile  and  you  '11  see,  that  he  's  not  base-boni,  after 
all ;  and  as  for  respect  in  the  neighborhood,  there  's  not  a 
man  more  respected  nor  looked  up  to,  —  so  the  last  p'int  's 
settled,  and  we  '11  take  the  t'  other  two ;  and  I  s'pose  you 
mean  his  farm  is  n't  enough  ?  " 

"  Thee  's  right."  Dr.  Deane  said.  "  As  Martha's  guard- 
ian, I  am  bound  to  watch  over  her  interests,  and  every 
prudent  man  will  agree  with  me  that  her  husband  ought 
at  least  to  be  as  well  off  as  herself." 

"  Well,  all  I  'vc  got  to  say,  is,  it 's  lucky  for  you  that 
Naomi  Blake  did  n't  think  as  you  do,  when  she  married 
you.  Wliat  's  sass  for  the  goose  ought  to  be  sass  for  the 
gander  (meanin'  you  and  Gilbert),  and  every  prudent  man 
will  agree  with  me." 

This  was  a  home-thnist,  which  Dr.  Deane  was  not  able 
to  parry.  Miss  Lavender  had  full  knowledge  whereof  she 
affirmed,  and  the  Doctor  knew  it 

"  I  admit  that  there  might  be  other  advantages,"  he  said, 
rather  pompously,  covering  his  annoyance  with  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  — "  advantages  which  partly  balance  the  want  of 
property.  Perhaps  Naomi  Blake  thought  so  too.  But 
here,  I  think,  it  would  be  hard  for  thee  to  find  such.  Or 
does  thee  mean  that  the  man's  disgraceful  birth  is  a  recomf 
mendatiou  ?  " 


298  THE  STORY  01   KENNETT. 

"  Recommendation  ?  No !  "  Miss  Lavender  cuitly  Te» 
plied. 

"  We  need  go  no  further,  then.  Admitting  thee 's  right 
in  all  other  respects,  here  is  cause  enough  i'or  me.  I  put 
it  to  thee,  as  a  sensible  woman,  whether  I  would  not  cover 
both  myself  and  IMartha  with  shame,  by  allowing  her  mar- 
riage with  Gilbert  Potter  ?  " 

Miss  Lavender  sat  silently  in  her  chair  and  appeared  to 
meditate. 

"  Thee  does  n't  answer,"  the  Doctor  remarked,  after  a 
pause. 

"  T  dunno  how  it  come  about,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head 
and  fixing  her  dull  eyes  on  vacancy ;  "  I  was  thinkin'  o' 
the  time  I  vv^as  up  at  Strasburg,  while  your  brother  was 
livin',  m.ore  'n  twenty  year  ago. 

With  all  his  habitual  self-control  and  gravity  of  deport- 
ment. Dr.  Deane  could  not  repress  a  violent  start  of  sur- 
prise. He  darted  a  keen,  fierce  glance  at  Miss  Betsy's 
face,  but  she  was  staring  at  the  opposite  wall,  apparently 
unconscious  of  the  effect  of  her  words. 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  Gilbert  Potter," 
he  presently  said,  collecting  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Nor  I,  neither,"  Miss  Lavender  absently  replied,  "  only 
it  happened  that  I  knowed  Eliza  Little,  —  her  that  used  to 
live  at  the  Gap,  you  know,  —  and  just  afore  she  died,  that 
fall  the  fever  was  so  bad,  and  I  nussin'  her,  and  not  an- 
other soul  awake  in  the  house,  she  told  me  a  secret  about 
your  brother's  boy,  and  I  must  say  few  men  would  ha' 
acted  as  Henry  done,  and  there 's  more  'n  one  mighty  be- 
holden to  him." 

Dr.  Deane  stretched  out  his  hand  as  if  he  would  close 
her  mouth.  His  face  was  like  fire,  and  a  wild  expression 
of  fear  and  pain  shot  from  his  eyes. 

♦'  Betsy  Lavender,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  thee  is 
a  terrible  woman.  Thee  forces  even  the  secrets  of  the 
dying  from  them,  and  brings  up  knowledge  that  should 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  299 

be  hidden  forever.  "What  can  all  this  avail  thee  ?  Why 
does  thee  threaten  me  with  appearances,  that  cannot  now 
Imj  explained,  all  the  witnesses  being  dead  ?  " 

"  "Witnesses  bein'  dead,"  she  repeated.  "  Are  you  sorry 
for  that  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her  in  silent  consternation. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  turning  towards  him  for  the  first 
time,  "  there  's  no  livin'  soul  that  knows,  except  you  and 
me,  and  if  I  seem  hard,  I  'm  no  harder  than  the  knowl- 
edge in  your  own  heart.  "What 's  the  difference,  in  the 
sigbt  o'  the  Lord,  between  the  one  that  has  a  bad  name 
and  the  one  that  has  a  good  name  ?  Come,  you  set  your- 
self up  for  a  Chris'en,  and  so  I  ask  you  whether  you  're 
the  one  that  ought  to  fling  the  first  stone ;  whether 
repentance  —  and  there  's  that,  of  course,  for  you  a'n't 
a  nateral  bad  man.  Doctor,  but  rather  the  contrary  — 
ought  n't  to  be  showed  in  deeds,  to  be  wuth  much  ! 
You  're  set  ag'in  Martha,  and  your  pride  's  touched,  which 
I  can't  say  as  I  wonder  at,  all  folks  havin'  pride,  me  among 
the  rest,  not  that  1  've  much  to  be  proud  of.  Goodness 
knows  ;  but  never  mind,  don't  you  talk  about  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter in  that  style,  leastways  before  me  !  " 

During  this  speech.  Dr.  Deane  had  time  to  reflect  Al- 
though aghast  at  the  unexpected  revelation,  he  had  not 
wholly  lost  his  cunning.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  what  ISIiss 
Lavender  intended  to  do  with  the  weapon  in  her  hands, 
and  his  aim  was  to  render  it  powerless. 

"  Betsy,"  he  said,  "  there  's  one  thing  thee  won't  deny, 
—  that,  if  there  was  a  fault,  (which  I  don't  allow),  it  has 
been  expiated.  To  make  known  thy  suspicions  would 
bring  sorrow  and  trouble  upon  two  persons  for  whom  thee 
professes  to  feel  some  attachment ;  if  thee  could  prove 
what  thee  thinks,  it  would  be  a  still  greater  misfortune  for 
them  than  for  me.  They  are  young,  and  my  tin)e  is  nearly 
spent  "\Ve  all  have  serious  burdens  which  we  must  bear 
alone,  and  thee  must  n't  forget  that  the  same  consideration 


800  THE  STORY  OF  KENXET7. 

for  the  opinion  of  men  which  keeps  thee  silent,  keeps  me 
from  consenting  to  Martha's  marriage  with  Gilbert  Potter. 
We  are  bound  alike." 

"  We  're  not ! "  she  cried,  rising  from  her  scat.  "  But 
r  see  it 's  no  use  to  talk  any  more,  now.  Perhaps  sinco 
you  know  that  there  's  a  window  in  you,  and  me  lookiu' 
in.  you  'U  try  and  keep  th'  inside  o'  your  house  in  better 
order.  Whether  I  '11  act  accordin'  to  my  knowledge  or 
not,  depends  on  how  things  turns  out,  and  so  sufficient 
unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  or  however  it  goes  !  " 

With  these  words  she  left  the  room,  though  foiled,  not 
entirely  hopeless. 

"  It  's  like  buttin'  over  an  old  stone-wall,"  she  said  to 
Martha.  "  The  first  hit  with  a  rammer  seems  to  como 
back  onto  you,  and  jars  y'r  own  bones,  and  may  be  the 
next,  and  the  next ;  and  then  little  stones  git  out  o'  place, 
and  then  the  wall  shakes,  and  comes  down,  —  and  so 
we  've  been  a-doin'.  I  guess  I  made  a  crack  to-day,  bat 
we  'U  see." 


THS  STORY  OF  K£MN£TT.  801 


CHAPTER   XXVL 

THE    LAST    OF    SANDY   FLASH. 

The  winter  crept  on,  February  was  drawing  to  a  close^ 
tud  still  Gilbert  Potter  had  not  ascertained  whence  the 
money  was  to  be  drawn  which  would  relieve  him  from 
embarrassment.  The  few  applications  he  had  made  were 
failures  ;  some  of  the  persons  really  had  no  money  to  in- 
vest, and  others  were  too  cautious  to  trust  a  man  who,  as 
everybody  knew,  had  been  unfortunate.  In  five  weeks 
more  the  sum  must  be  made  up,  or  the  mortgage  would 
be  foreclosed. 

Both  Mary  Potter  and  her  son,  in  this  emergency, 
seemed  to  have  adopted,  by  accident  or  sympathy,  the 
same  policy  towards  each  other,  —  to  cheer  and  encourage, 
in  every  possible  way.  Gilbert  carefully  concealed  his 
humiliation,  on  returning  home  from  an  unsuccessful  ap- 
peal for  a  loan,  and  his  mother  veiled  her  renewed  sinking 
of  the  heart,  as  she  heard  of  his  failure,  under  a  cheerful 
hope  of  final  success,  which  she  did  not  feel.  Both  had, 
in  fact,  one  great  consolation  to  fall  back  upon,  —  she  that 
he  had  been  mercifully  saved  to  her,  he  that  he  was  be- 
loved by  a  noble  woman. 

All  the  grain  that  could  be  spared  and  sold  placed  but 
little  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  in  Gilbert's  hands,  and 
he  began  seriously  to  consider  whether  he  should  not  be 
obliged  to  sell  his  wagon  and  team.  He  had  been  offered 
a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  (a  very  large  sum,  in  those 
days,)  for  Roger,  but  he  would  as  soon  have  sold  his  own 
right  arm.     Not   even  to  save  the  farm  would  he  have 


80%  THE  STORY  OF  KENNFIT. 

parted  with  the  faithful  animal.  Mark  Deane  persisted 
in  increasing  his  seventy-five  dollars  to  a  hundred,  and 
forcing  the  loan  upon  his  friend ;  so  one  third  of  the 
amount  was  secure,  and  there  was  still  hope  for  the  rest. 

It  is  not  precisely  true  that  there  had  been  no  offer  of 
assistance.  There  was  one,  which  Gilbert  half-suspected 
had  been  instigated  by  Betsy  Lavender.  On  a  Saturday 
afternoon,  as  he  visited  Kennett  Square  to  have  Roger's 
fore-feet  shod,  he  encountered  Alfred  Barton  at  the  black- 
smith's shop,  on  the  same  errand. 

"  The  man  I  wanted  to  see  !  "  cried  the  latter,  as  Gilbert 
dismounted.  "  Ferris  was  in  Chester  last  week,  and  he 
saw  Chaffey,  the  constable,  you  know,  that  helped  catch 
Sandy ;  and  Chaffey  told  him  he  was  sure,  from  something 
Sandy  let  fall,  that  Deb.  Smith  had  betrayed  him  out  of 
revenge,  because  he  robbed  you.  I  want  to  know  how  it 
all  hangs  together." 

Gilbert  suddenly  recalled  Deb.  Smith's  words,  on  the 
day  after  his  escape  from  the  inundation,  and  a  suspicion 
of  the  truth  entered  his  mind  for  the  first  time. 

**  It  must  have  been  so ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  She  has 
been  a  better  friend  to  me  than  many  people  of  better 
name." 

Barton  noticed  the  bitterness  of  the  remark,  and  possi- 
bly drew  his  own  inference  from  it  He  looked  annoyed 
for  a  moment,  but  presently  beckoned  Gilbert  to  one  side, 
and  said,  — 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  've  given  up  your  foolish 
suspicions  about  me  and  Sandy ;  but  the  trial  comes  off 
next  week,  and  you  '11  have  to  be  there  as  a  witness,  of 
course,  and  can  satisfy  yourself,  if  you  please,  that  my  ex- 
planation was  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  've  not  felt  so 
jolly  in  twenty  years,  as  when  I  heard  that  the  fellow  was 
really  in  the  jug ! " 

"  I  told  you  I  believed  your  words,"  Gilbert  answered, 
'^■nd  that  settles  th^  macter.     Perhaps  I  shall  find  out 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  Mi 

how  Sandy  learned  what  you  said  to  me  that  evening,  on 
the  back-porch  of  the  Unicorn,  and  if  so,  I  am  bomid  to 
let  you  know  it." 

"  See  here,  Gilbert !  "  Barton  resumed.  "  Folks  say  yon 
must  borrow  the  money  you  lost,  or  the  mortgage  on  your 
furm  will  be  foreclosed.  Is  that  so  ?  and  how  much  money 
might  it  be,  altogether,  if  you  don't  mind  telling  ?  " 

"  Not  so  much,  if  those  who  have  it  to  lend,  had  a  little 
faith  in  me,  —  some  four  or  five  hundred  dollars." 

"That  ought  to  be  got,  without  trouble,"  said  Barton. 
"  If  I  had  it  by  me,  I  'd  lend  it  to  you  in  a  minute ;  but 
you  know  I  borrowed  from  Ferris  myself,  and  all  o'  my 
own  is  so  tied  up  that  I  could  n't  move  it  without  the  old 
man  getting  on  my  track.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do, 
though  ;  I  'II  indorse  your  note  for  a  year,  if  it  can  be 
kept  a  matter  between  ourselves  and  the  lender.  On  ac- 
count of  the  old  man,  you  understand." 

The  offer  was  evidently  made  in  good  faith,  and  Gilbert 
hesitated,  reluctant  to  accept  it,  and  yet  unwilling  to  reject 
it  in  a  manner  that  might  seem  unfriendly. 

"  Barton,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  've  never  yet  failed  to 
meet  a  money  obligation.  All  my  debts,  except  this  last, 
have  been  paid  on  the  day  I  promised,  and  it  seems  a 
little  hard  that  my  own  name,  alone,  should  n't  be  good 
for  as  much  as  I  need.  Old  Fairthom  would  give  me  his 
indorsement,  but  I  won't  ask  for  it ;  and  I  mean  no  offence 
when  I  say  that  I  'd  rather  get  along  without  yours,  if  I 
can.  It 's  kind  in  you  to  make  the  offer,  and  to  show  that 
I  'm  not  ungrateful,  I  '11  beg  you  to  look  round  among  your 
rich  friends  and  help  me  to  find  the  loan." 

"  You  're  a  mighty  independent  fellow,  Gilbert,  but  1 
can't  say  as  T  blame  you  for  it.  Yes,  I  '11  look  round  w 
a  few  days,  and  maybe  I  '11  stumble  on  the  right  man  by 
the  time  I  see  you  again." 

When  Gilbert  returned  home,  he  communicated  this 
sUght  prospect  of  relief  to  his  mother.    '*  Perhaps  I  am 


Bai  THE  STORt  OF  KENNETT. 

a  little  too  proud,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  've  always  taught  me, 
mother,  to  be  beholden  to  no  man,  if  I  could  help  it ;  and 
I  should  feel  more  uneasy  under  an  obligation  to  Barton 
than  to  most  other  men.  You  know  I  must  go  to  Chester 
in  a  few  days,  and  must  wait  till  I  'm  called  to  testify. 
There  will  then  be  time  to  look  around,  and  perhaps  Mr. 
Trainer  may  help  me  yet." 

"  You  're  right,  boy  !  "  Mary  Potter  cried,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  Keep  your  pride ;  it  's  not  of  the  mean  kind  I 
Don't  ask  for  or  take  any  man's  indorsement !  " 

Two  days  before  the  time  when  Gilbert  was  summoned 
to  Chester,  Deb.  Smith  made  her  appearance  at  the  farm. 
She  entered  the  barn  early  one  morning,  with  a  bundle  in 
her  hand,  and  dispatched  Sam,  whom  she  found  in  the 
stables,  to  simimon  his  master.  She  looked  old,  weather- 
beaten,  and  haggard,  and  her  defiant  show  of  strength  was 
gone. 

In  betraying  Sandy  Flash  into  the  hands  of  justice,  she 
had  acted  from  a  fierce  impulse,  without  reflecting  upon 
the  inevitable  consequences  of  the  step.  Perhaps  she  did 
not  suspect  that  she  was  also  betraying  herself,  and  more 
than  confirming  all  the  worst  rumors  in  regard  to  her  char- 
acter. In  the  universal  execration  which  followed  the 
knowledge  of  her  lawless  connection  with  Sandy  Flash, 
and  her  presumed  complicity  in  his  crimes,  the  merit  of 
her  service  to  the  county  was  lost.  The  popular  mind, 
knowing  nothing  of  her  temptations,  struggles,  and  sufier- 
ings,  was  harsh,  cold,  and  cruel,  and  she  felt  the  weight  of 
its  verdict  as  never  before.  A  few  persons  of  her  own 
ignorant  class,  who  admired  her  strength  and  courage  in 
their  coarse  way,  advised  her  to  hide  until  the  first  fury  of 
the  storm  should  be  blown  over.  Thus  she  exaggerated 
the  danger,  and  even  felt  uncertain  of  her  reception  by  the 
very  man  for  whose  sake  she  had  done  the  deed  and  ac- 
cepted the  curse. 

Gilbert,  however,  when  he  saw  her  worn,  anxious  fiiM^ 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  Mft 

Uie  eyes,  like  those  of  a  dumb  animal,  lifted  to  his  mth  as 
appeal  which  she  knew  not  how  to  speak,  felt  a  pang  of 
compassionate  sympathy. 

"  Deborah  !  "  he  said,  "  you  don't  look  well ;  come  into 
the  house  and  warm  yourself!  " 

"  No  ! "  she  cried,  "  I  won't  darken  your  door  till  you  've 
heerd  what  I  've  got  to  say.  Go  'way,  Sam ;  I  want  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Gilbert,  alone." 

Gilbert  made  a  sign,  and  Sam  sprang  down  the  ladder, 
to  the  stables  under  the  threshing-floor. 

"  Mayhap  you  've  heerd  already,"  she  smd.  "  A  blotch 
on  a  body's  name  spreads  fast  and  far.  Mine  was  black 
enough  before,  God  knows,  but  they  've  blackened  it 
more." 

"  If  all  I  hear  is  true,"  Gilbert  exclaimed,  "  you  Ve 
blackened  it  for  my  sake,  Deborah.  I  'm  afraid  you 
thought  I  blamed  you,  in  some  way,  for  not  preventing  my 
loss ;  but  I  'ra  sure  you  did  what  you  could  to  save  me 
from  it ! " 

"  Ay,  lad,  that  I  did  !  But  the  devil  seemed  to  ha'  got 
into  him.  Awftil  words  passed  between  us,  and  then  — 
the  devil  got  into  me,  and  —  you  know  what  follered.  He 
would  n't  believe  the  money  was  your'n,  or  I  don't  think 
he  'd  ha'  took  it ;  he  was  n't  a  bad  man  at  heart,  Sandy 
was  n't,  only  stubborn  at  the  wrong  times,  and  brung  it 
onto  himself  by  that.  But  you  know  what  folks  says  about 
me?" 

*  I  don't  care  what  they  say,  Deborah ! "  Gilbert  cried. 
"  I  know  that  you  are  a  true  and  faithful  friend  to  me,  and 
I  've  not  had  so  many  such  in  my  life  that  I  'm  likely  to 
forget  what  you  've  tried  to  do  !  " 

Her  hard,  melancholy  face  became  at  once  eager  and 
tender.  She  stepped  forward,  put  her  hand  on  Gilbert's 
arm,  and  said,  in  a  hoarse,  earnest,  excited  whisper,  — 

"  Then  maybe  you  '11  take  it  ?  I  was  almost  afeard  to 
as  you,  —  I  thought  you  might  push  me  away,  like  the  rest 


106  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 

of  'em ;  but  you  11  take  it,  and  that  11  seem  like  a  tiftitf 
of  the  curse  !  You  won't  mind  how  it  was  got,  will  you? 
I  had  to  git  it  in  that  way,  because  no  other  was  left  ts 
me!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Deborah  ?  " 

"The  money,  Mr.  Gilbert!  They  allowed  me  hal^ 
though  the  constables  was  for  thirds,  but  the  Judge  said 
I  'd  arned  the  full  half,  —  God  knows,  ten  thousand  times 
would  n't  pay  me !  —  and  I  've  got  it  here,  tied  up  safe. 
It 's  your'n,  you  know,  and  maybe  there  a'n't  quite  enough, 
but  as  fur  as  it  goes  ;  and  I  '11  work  out  the  amount  o'  the 
rest,  from  time  to  time,  if  you  '11  let  me  come  onto  your 
place ! " 

Gilbert  was  powerfully  and  yet  painfully  moved.  He 
forgot  his  detestation  of  the  relation  in  which  Deb.  Smith 
had  stood  to  the  highwayman,  in  his  gratitude  for  her  devo- 
tion to  himself.  He  felt  an  invincible  repugnance  towards 
accepting  her  share  of  the  reward,  even  as  a  loan  ;  it  was 
"blood-money,"  and  to  touch  it  in  any  way  was  to  be 
stained  with  its  color ;  yet  how  should  he  put  aside  her 
kindness  without  inflicting  pain  upon  her  rude  nature, 
made  sensitive  at  last  by  abuse,  persecution,  and  remorse  ? 

His  face  spoke  in  advance  of  his  lips,  and  she  read  its 
language  with  wonderful  quickness. 

"  A.h ! "  she  cried,  "  I  mistrusted  how  it  'd  be  ;  you  don't 
want  to  say  it  right  out,  but  1  '11  say  it  for  you !  You  think 
the  money  'd  bring  you  no  luck,  —  maybe  a  downright 
curse, — and  how  can  I  say  it  won't  ?  Ha'n't  it  cursed  me  ? 
Sandy  said  it  would,  even  as  your'n  follered  him.  What  *s 
it  good  for,  then  ?  It  bums  my  hands,  and  them  that 's 
clean,  won't  touch  it.  There,  you  damned  devil's-bait,  — 
ray  arm  's  sore,  and  my  heart 's  sore,  wi'  the  weight  o'  you ! " 

With  these  words  she  flung  the  cloth,  with  its  bunch  of 
hard  silver  coins,  upon  the  threshing-floor.  It  clashed  like 
the  sound  of  chains.  Gilbert  saw  that  she  was  sorely  hurt 
Tears  of  disappointment,  which  she  vainly  strove  to  Iiold 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  M9 

back,  rose  to  her  eyes,  as  she  grimly  folded  her  arms,  and 
facing  him,  said,  — 

"  Now,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Stay  here  for  the  present,  Deborah,"  he  answered. 

"  Eh  ?  A'n't  I  summonsed  ?  The  job  I  undertook  is  n't 
done  yet ;  the  wust  part 's  to  come  !  Maybe  they  'U  let  me 
off  from  puttin'  the  rope  round  his  neck,  but  I  a'n't  sure  o* 
that ! " 

"  Then  come  to  me  afterwards,"  he  said,  gently,  striving 
to  allay  her  fierce,  self-accusing  mood.  "  Remember  that 
you  always  have  a  home  and  a  shelter  with  me,  whenever 
you  need  them.  And  I  '11  take  your  money,"  he  added, 
picking  it  up  from  the  floor,  —  "  take  it  in  trust  for  you, 
until  the  time  shall  come  when  you  will  be  willing  to  use  it. 
Now  go  in  to  my  mother." 

The  woman  was  softened  and  consoled  by  his  words 
But  she  still  hesitated. 

**  Maybe  she  won't  —  she  wont "  — 

"She  will!"  Gilbert  exclaimed.  "But  if  you  doubt, 
wait  here  until  I  come  back." 

Mary  Potter  earnestly  approved  of  his  decision,  to  take 
charge  of  the  money,  without  making  use  of  it  A  strong, 
semi-superstitious  influence  had  so  entwined  itself  with  her 
&te,  that  she  even  shrank  from  help,  unless  it  came  in  an 
obviously  pure  and  honorable  form.  She  measured  the 
fulness  of  her  coming  justification  by  the  strict  integrity 
of  the  means  whereby  she  sought  to  deserve  it.  Deb. 
Smith,  in  her  new  light,  was  no  welcome  guest,  and  with 
aL  her  coarse  male  strength,  she  was  still  woman  enough 
to  guess  the  fact ;  but  Mary  Potter  resolved  to  think  only 
that  her  son  had  been  served  and  befriended.  Keeping 
that  service  steadily  before  her  eyes,  she  was  able  to  take 
the  outcast's  hand,  to  give  her  shelter  and  food,  and,  oetter 
still,  to  soothe  her  with  that  sweet,  unobtrusive  consolation 
which  only  a  woman  can  bestow,  —  which  steals  by  avenues 
of  benevolent  cunning  into  a  nature  that  would  repel  • 
direct  expression  of  sympathy. 


308  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

The  next  morning,  however,  Deb.  Smith  left  the  hoiiae, 
saying  to  Gilbert,  —  "  You  won't  see  me  ag'in,  without  it 
may  be  in  Court,  till  after  all  's  over ;  and  then  I  may  have 
to  ask  you  to  hide  me  for  awhile.  Don't  mind  what  I  've 
said ;  I  've  no  larnin',  and  can't  always  make  out  the  rights 
o'  things,  —  and  sometimes  it  seems  there  's  two  Sandys,  9 
good  'un  and  a  bad  'un,  and  meanin  to  punish  one,  I  've 
ruined  'em  both  !  " 

When  Gilbert  reached  Chester,  the  trial  was  just  about 
t»  commence.  The  little  old  town  on  the  Delaware  was 
crowded  with  curious  strangers,  not  only  from  all  parts  of 
the  county,  but  even  from  Philadelphia  and  the  opposite 
New-Jersey  shore.  Every  one  who  had  been  summoned 
to  testify  was  beset  by  an  inquisitive  circle,  and  none  more 
so  than  himself.  The  Court-house  was  packed  to  suffoca- 
tion ;  and  the  Sheriff,  heavily  armed,  could  with  difficulty 
force  a  way  through  the  mass.  When  the  clanking  of  the 
prisoner's  irons  was  heard,  all  the  pushing,  struggling, 
murmuring  sounds  ceased  until  the  redoubtable  highway- 
man stood  in  the  dock. 

He  looked  around  the  Court-room  with  his  usual  defiant 
air,  and  no  one  observed  any  change  of  expression,  as  his 
eyes  passed  rapidly  over  Deb.  Smith's  face,  or  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter's. His  hard  red  complexion  was  already  beginning  to 
fade  in  confinement,  and  his  thick  hair,  formerly  close- 
cropped  for  the  convenience  of  disguises,  had  grown  out  in 
not  ungraceful  locks.  He  was  decidedly  a  handsome  man, 
and  his  bearing  seemed  to  show  that  he  was  conscious  of 
the  fact. 

The  trial  commenced.  To  the  astonishment  of  all,  and, 
as  it  was  afterwards  reported,  against  the  advice  of  his 
counsel,  the  prisoner  plead  guilty  to  some  of  the  specifica- 
tions of  the  indictment,  while  he  denied  others.  The  Col- 
lectors whom  he  had  plundered  were  then  called  to  the 
witness-stand,  but  the  public  seemed  to  manifest  less  inter- 
est in  the  loss  of  its  own   money,  than  in  the  few  casef 


THE  STORY  OP  KENNETT.  SOS 

where  private  individuals  had  suffered,  anu  waited  iinpof 
tiently  for  the  latter. 

Deb.  Smith  had  so  long  borne  the  curious  gaze  of  hun- 
dreds of  eyes,  whenever  she  lifted  her  head,  that  when  her 
turn  came,  she  was  able  to  rise  and  walk  forward  without 
betraying  any  emotion.  Only  when  she  was  confronted 
with  Sandy  Flash,  and  he  met  her  with  a  wonderfully 
strange,  serious  smile,  did  she  shudder  for  a  moment  and 
hastily  turn  away.  She  gave  her  testimony  in  a  hard,  firm 
voice,  making  her  statements  as  brief  as  possible,  and  vol 
imteering  nothing  beyond  what  was  demanded. 

On  being  dismissed  from  the  stand,  she  appeared  to  hes- 
itate. Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  faces  of  the  lawyers, 
the  judges,  and  the  jurymen,  as  if  with  a  dumb  appeal,  but 
she  did  not  speak.  Then  she  turned  towards  the  prisoner, 
and  some  words  passed  between  them,  which,  in  the  gen- 
eral movement  of  curiosity,  were  only  heard  by  the  two  or 
three  persons  who  stood  nearest. 

"  Sandy !  "  she  was  reported  to  have  said,  "  I  could  n't 
help  myself;  take  the  cui-se  off  o'  me  ! " . 

"  Deb.,  it 's  too  late,"  he  answered.  "  It 's  begim  to  work, 
and  it  HI  work  itself  out !  " 

Gilbert  noticed  the  feehng  of  hostility  with  which  Deb. 
Smith  was  regarded  by  the  spectators,  —  a  feeling  that 
threatened  to  manifest  itself  in  some  violent  way,  when  the 
restraints  of  the  place  should  be  removed.  He  therefore 
took  advantage  of  the  great  interest  with  which  his  own 
testimony  was  heard,  to  present  her  character  in  the  light 
which  her  services  to  him  shed  upon  it.  This  was  a  new 
phase  of  the  story,  and  produced  a  general  movement  of 
surprise.  Sandy  Flash,  it  was  noticed,  sitting  with  his  fet- 
tered hands  upon  the  rail  before  him,  leaned  forward  and 
listened  intently,  while  an  inusual  flush  deepened  upon  his 
cheeks. 

The  statements,  though  not  strictly  in  evidence,  were 
permitted  by  the  Court,  and  they  produced  the  effect  which 


810  THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT. 

Gilbert  intended.  The  excitement  reached  its  height 
when  Deb.  Smith,  ignorant  of  rule,  suddenly  rose  and  cried 
out, — 

"  It 's  true  as  Gospel,  every  word  of  it  1  Sandy,  do  you 
hear?" 

She  was  removed  by  the  constable,  but  the  people,  aa 
they  made  way,  uttered  no  word  of  threat  or  insult.  On 
the  contrary,  many  eyes  rested  on  her  hard,  violent, 
wretched  face  with  an  expression  of  very  genuine  compas- 
sion. 

The  trial  took  its  course,  and  terminated  with  the  result 
which  everybody  —  even  the  prisoner  himself — knew  to 
be  inevitable.  He  was  pronounced  guilty,  and  duly  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was  dead. 

Gilbert  employed  the  time  which  he  could  spare  from 
his  attendance  at  the  Court,  in  endeavoring  to  make  a  new 
loan,  but  with  no  positive  success.  The  most  he  accom- 
plished was  an  agreement,  on  the  part  of  his  creditor,  that 
the  foreclosure  might  be  delayed  two  or  three  weeks, 
provided  there  was  a  good  prospect  of  the  money  being 
obtained.  In  ordinary  times  he  would  have  had  no  diffi- 
culty ;  but,  as  Mr.  Trainer  had  written,  the  speculation  in 
western  lands  had  seized  upon  capitalists,  and  the  amount 
of  money  for  permanent  investment  was  already  greatly 
diminished. 

He  was  preparing  to  return  home,  when  Chaffey,  the 
constable,  came  to  him  with  a  message  from  Sandy  Flash. 
The  latter  begged  for  an  interview,  and  both  Judge  and 
Sheriff  were  anxious  that  Gilbert  should  comply  with  his 
wishes,  in  the  hope  that  a  full  and  complete  confession 
might  be  obtained.  It  was  evident  that  the  highwayman 
had  accomplices,  but  he  steadfastly  refused  to  name  them, 
even  with  the  prospect  of  having  his  sentence  commuted 
to  imprisonment  for  life. 

Gilbert  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  There  were  doubtn 
of  his  own  to  be  solved,  —  questions  to  be  asked,  which 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  til 

Swidy  Flash  could  alone  answer.  He  followed  the  coo- 
stable  to  the  gloomy,  high-walled  jail-building,  and  was 
promptly  admitted  by  the  Sheriff  into  the  low,  dark,  heavily 
barred  cell,  wherein  the  prisoner  sat  upon  a  wooden  stool, 
the  links  of  his  leg-fetters  passed  through  a  ring  in  the 
floor. 

Sandy  Flash  lifted  his  face  to  the  light,  and  grinned,  but 
not  with  his  old,  mocking  expression.  He  stretched  out 
his  hand  which  Gilbert  look,  —  hard  and  cold  as  the  rat- 
tling chain  at  his  wrist  Then,  seating  himself  with  a 
clash  upon  the  floor,  he  pushed  the  stool  towards  his  vis- 
itor, and  said,  — 

"  Set  down,  Potter.  Limited  accommodations,  you  see. 
Sheriff,  you  need  n't  wait ;  it 's  private  business," 

The  Sheriff  locked  the  iron  door  behind  him,  and  they 
were  alone. 

"  Potter,"  the  highwayman  began,  "  you  see  I  'm  crapped 
and  done  for,  and  all,  it  seems,  on  account  o'  that  little 
affair  o'  your'n.  You  won't  think  it  means  much,  now, 
when  I  say  I  was  in  the  wrong  there  ;  but  I  swear  I  was  I 
I  had  no  particular  spite  ag'in  Barton,  but  he  's  a  swell, 
and  I  like  to  take  such  fellows  down  ;  and  I  was  dead  sure 
you  were  carryin'  his  money,  as  you  promised  to." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  Gilbert  interrupted ;  "  how  did 
you  know  I  promised  to  take  money  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  knowed  it,  that 's  enough  ;  I  can  give  you,  word  for 
word,  what  both  o'  you  said,  if  you  doubt  me." 

"  Then,  as  I  thought,  it  was  Barton  himself! "  Gilbert 
cried. 

Sandy  Flash  burst  into  a  roaring  laugh,  "^'m  !  Ah- 
ha  !  you  think  we  go  snacks,  eh  ?  Do  I  look  like  a  fool  ? 
Barton  'd  give  his  eye-teeth  to  put  the  halter  round  my 
peck  with  his  own  hands  !  No,  no,  young  man  ;  I  have 
ways  and  ways  o'  leamin'  things  that  you  nor  him  Tl  nerei 
guess." 

His  maimer,  even  more  than  bis  words,  convinced  GO 


512  THE  STORY  Of  KENNETT. 

belt.  Barton  was  absolved,  but  the  mystery  remained 
"  You  won't  deny  that  you  have  friends  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Maybe,"  Sandy  replied,  in  a  short,  rough  tone.  "  That '« 
nothin'  to  you,"  he  continued ;  "  but  what  I  've  got  to  say  is, 
whether  or  no  you  're  a  friend  to  Deb.,  she  thinks  you  are. 
Do  you  mean  to  look  after  her,  once't  in  a  while,  or  are 
you  one  o'  them  that  forgits  a  good  turn  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  her,"  said  Gilbert,  "  that  she  shall  always 
h  ive  a  home  and  a  shelter  in  my  house.  If  it 's  any  satis- 
faction to  you,  here  's  my  hand  on  it ! " 

"  I  believe  you.  Potter.  Deb.  's  done  ill  by  me ;  she 
should  n't  ha'  bullied  me  when  I  was  sore  and  tetchy,  and 
fagged  out  with  your  curst  huntin'  of  me  up  and  down ! 
But  I  '11  do  that  nmch  for  her  and  for  you.  Here ;  bend 
your  head  down  ;  I  've  got  to  whisper." 

Gilbert  leaned  his  ear  to  the  highwayman's  mouth. 

"  You  '11  only  tell  her,  you  understand  ?  " 

Gilbert  assented. 

"  Say  to  her  these  words,  —  don't  forgit  a  single  one  of 
'em  !  —  Thirty  steps  from  the  place  she  knowed  about,  be- 
hind the  two  big  chestnut-trees,  goin'  towards  the  first 
cedar,  and  a  forked  sassyfrack  growin'  right  over  it.  What 
she  finds,  is  yom"'n." 

"  Sandy !  "  Gilbert  exclaimed,  starting  from  his  listening 
posture. 

"  Hush,  I  say !  You  know  what  I  mean  her  to  do,  -^ 
give  you  your  money  back.  I  took  a  curse  with  it,  as  you 
said.     Maybe  that 's  off  o'  me,  now  ! " 

"  It  is  !  "  said  Gilbert,  in  a  low  tone,  "and  forgiveness  — 
mine  and  my  mother's  —  in  the  place  of  it.  Have  you 
any  "  — ^  he  hesitated  to  say  the  words  —  "  any  last  mes- 
sages, to  her  or  anybody  else,  or  anything  you  would  like 
to  have  done  ?  " 

"  Thank  ye,  no  !  —  unless  Deb.  can  find  my  black  haif 
and  whiskers.  Then  you  may  give  *em  to  Barton,  with 
nay  dutiful  service." 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  818 

He  laughed  at  the  idea,  until  his  chains  rattled. 

Gilbert's  mind  was  haunted  with  the  other  and  darker 
doubt,  and  he  resolved,  in  this  last  interview,  to  secure 
himself  against  its  recurrence.  In  such  an  hour  he  could 
trust  the  prisoner's  words. 

"  Sandy."  he  asked,  "  have  you  any  children  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge  ;  and  I  'm  glad  of  it." 

"  You  must  know,"  Gilbert  continued,  "  what  the  people 
say  about  my  birth.  My  mother  is  bound  from  telling 
me  who  my  father  was,  and  I  dare  not  ask  her  any  ques- 
tions. Did  you  ever  happen  to  know  her,  in  your  younger 
days,  or  can  you  remember  anything  that  will  help  me  to 
discover  his  name  ?  " 

The  highwayman  sat  silent,  meditating,  and  Gilbert  felt 
that  his  heart  was  beginning  to  beat  painfully  fast,  as  he 
Mraited  for  the  answer. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sandy,  at  last,  "  I  did  know  Mary  Potter 
when  I  was  a  boy,  and  she  knowed  me,  under  another 
name.  I  may  say  I  liked  her,  too,  in  a  boy's  way,  but  she 
was  older  by  three  or  four  years,  and  never  thought  o' 
lookin'  at  me.  But  I  can't  remember  anything  more ;  if 
I  was  out  o'  this,  I  'd  soon  find  out  for  you  !  " 

He  looked  up  with  an  eager,  questioning  glance,  which 
Gilbert  totally  misunderstood. 

"  What  was  your  other  name  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  barely 
audible  voice. 

"  I  dunno  as  I  need  tell  it,"  Sandy  answered  ;  "  what  'd 
be  the  good  ?  There  's  some  yet  livin',  o'  the  same  name, 
and  they  would  n't  thank  me." 

"  Sandy  !  "  Gilbert  cried  desperately,  "  answer  this  one 
qu(istion,  —  don't  go  out  of  the  world  with  a  false  word  m 
your  mouth  !  —  You  are  not  my  father  ?  " 

The  highwayman  looked  at  him  a  moment,  in  blank 
amazement.     "  No,  so  help  me  God  !  "  he  then  said. 

Gilbert's  face  brightened  so  suddenly  and  vividly  that 
Sandy  muttered  to  himself,  —  "  I  never  thorght  I  was  that 
bad." 


814  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

**  1  hear  the  Sheriff  at  the  outside  gate,"  he  whispered 
again.  "  Don't  forgit  —  thirty  steps  from  the  place  she 
knowed  about  —  behind  the  two  big  chestnut-trees,  goin' 
towards  the  first  cedar  —  and  a  forked  sassyfrack  growin' 
right  over  it !  Good-bye,  and  good-luck  to  the  whole  o' 
your  life ! " 

The  two  clasped  hands  with  a  warmth  and  earnestness 
which  surprised  the  Sheriff.  Then  Gilbert  went  out  from 
his  old  antagonist 

That  night  Sandy  Flash  made  an  attempt  to  escape 
from  the  jail,  and  very  nearly  succeeded.  It  appeared, 
from  some  mysterious  words  which  he  afterwards  let  fall, 
and  which  Gilbert  alone  could  have  understood,  that  he 
had  a  superstitious  belief  that  something  he  had  done 
would  bring  him  a  new  turn  of  fortune.  The  only  result 
of  the  attempt  was  to  hasten  his  execution.  Within  ten 
days  from  that  time  he  was  transformed  froip  «  living 
terror  into  a  romantic  name. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  8U 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

GILBERT    INDEPENDENT. 

Gilbert  Potter  felt  such  an  implicit  trust  in  Sandj 
Flash's  promise  of  restitution,  that,  before  leaving  Chester, 
he  announced  the  forthcoming  payment  of  the  mortgage 
to  its  holder.  His  homeward  ride  was  like  a  triumphal 
march,  to  which  his  heart  beat  the  music.  The  chill  March 
winds  turned  into  May-breezes  as  they  touched  him ;  the 
brown  meadows  were  quick  with  ambushed  bloom.  Within 
three  or  four  months  his  life  had  touched  such  extremes 
of  experience,  that  the  fate  yet  to  come  seemed  to  evolve 
itself  speedily  and  naturally  from  that  which  was  over  and 
gone.  Only  one  obstacle  yet  remained  in  his  path,  —  his 
mother's  secret.  Towards  that  he  was  powerless  ;  to  meet 
all  others  he  was  brimming  with  strength  and  courage. 

Mary  Potter  recognized,  even  more  keenly  and  with 
profounder  faith  than  her  son,  the  guidance  of  some  in- 
scrutable Power.  She  did  not  dare  to  express  so  uncer- 
tain a  hope,  but  something  in  her  heart  whispered  that  the 
day  of  her  own  deliverance  was  not  far  off,  and  she  took 
strength  from  it. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  before  Deb.  Smith  made  her  ap- 
pearance. Gilbert,  in  the  mean  time,  had  visited  her  cabin 
on  the  Woodrow  farm,  to  find  it  deserted,  and  he  was  bura- 
ing  with  impatience  to  secure,  through  her,  the  restoration 
of  his  independence.  He  would  not  announce  his  changed 
piospects,  even  to  Martha  Deane,  until  they  were  put 
beyond  further  risk.  The  money  once  in  his  hands,  he 
determined  to  carry  it  to  Chester  without  loss  of  time. 


518  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETt 

When  Deb.  arrived,  she  had  a  weary,  huiited  look,  but 
she  was  unusually  grave  and  silent,  and  avoided  further 
reference  to  the  late  tragical  episode  in  her  life.  Never- 
theless, Gilbert  led  hei  aside  and  narrated  to  her  the  par- 
ticulars of  his  interview  with  Sandy  Flash.  Perhaps  he 
softened,  with  pardonable  equivocation,  the  latter's  words 
in  regard  to  her  ;  perhaps  he  conveyed  a  sense  of  for- 
giveness which  had  not  been  expressed;  for  Deb.  more 
than  once  drew  the  corners  of  her  hard  palms  across  her 
eyes.  When  he  gave  the  marks  by  which  she  was  to  rec- 
ognize a  certain  spot,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  It  was  hid  the  night  I  dreamt  of  him  !  I  knowed  he 
must  ha'  been  nigh,  by  that  token.  0,  Mr.  Gilbert,  he 
said  true  !  I  know  the  place  ;  it 's  not  so  far  away ;  this 
very  night  you  *11  have  y'r  money  back  !  " 

After  it  was  dark  she  set  out,  with  a  spade  upon  her 
shoulder,  forbidding  him  to  follow,  or  even  to  look  after 
her.  Both  mother  and  son  were  too  excited  to  sleep. 
They  sat  by  the  kitchen-fire,  with  one  absorbing  thought 
in  their  minds,  and  speech  presently  became  easier  that, 
silence. 

"  Mother,"  said  Gilbert,  "  when  —  I  mean  if —  she  brings 
the  money,  all  that  has  happened  will  have  been  for  good 
It  has  proved  to  us  that  we  have  true  friends  (and  I  count 
my  Roger  among  them),  and  I  think  that  our  indepen- 
dence will  be  worth  all  the  more,  since  we  came  so  nigh 
losing  it  again." 

"  Ay,  my  boy,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  was  over-hasty,  and  have 
been  lessoned.  When  I  bend  my  mind  to  submit,  I  make 
more  headway  than  when  I  try  to  take  the  Lord's  work 
into  my  own  hands.  I  'm  fearsome  still,  but  it  seems 
there  's  a  light  coming  from  somewhere,  —  I  don't  know 
where." 

"  Do  you  feel  that  way,  mother  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do 
you  think  —  let  me  mention  it  this  once  !  —  that  the  day 
u  near  when  you  will  be  free  to  speak  ?    Will  there  be 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  BH 

mything  more  you  can  tell  me,  when  we  stand  free  upon 
our  own  property  ?  " 

Mary  Potter  looked  upon  his  bright,  wistful,  anxious 
face,  and  sighed,  "  I  can't  tell  —  I  can't  tell,"  she  said. 
"Ah,  my  boy,  you  would  understand  it,  if  I  dared  say  one 
thing,  but  that  might  lead  you  to  guess  what  must  n't  be 
told ;  and  I  will  be  faithful  to  the  spirit  as  well  as  the 
letter.  It  must  come  soon,  but  nothing  you  or  I  can  do 
would  hasten  it  a  minute." 

"One  word  more,  mother,"  he  persisted,  "will  our  in- 
dependence be  no  help  to  you  ?  " 

"  A  great  help,"  she  answered,  "  or,  maybe,  a  great  com- 
fort would  be  the  true  word.  Without  it,  I  might  be 
tempted  to  —  but  see,  Gilbert,  how  can  I  talk?  Every- 
thing you  say  pulls  at  the  one  thing  that  cuts  my  mouth 
like  a  knife,  because  it 's  shut  tight  on  it !  And  the  more 
because  I  owe  it  to  you,  —  because  I  'm  held  back  from 
my  duty  to  my  child,  —  maybe,  every  day  putting  a  fresh 
sorrow  into  his  heart !  Oh,  it  's  not  easy,  Gilbert ;  it  don't 
grow  lighter  from  use,  only  my  faith  is  the  stronger  and 
surer,  and  that  helps  me  to  bear  it." 

"  Mother,  I  meant  never  to  have  spoken  of  this  again," 
he  said.  "  But  you  're  mistaken ;  it  is  no  sorrow  ;  I  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  light  heart,  until  you  told  me 
your  trouble,  and  the  question  came  to  my  mouth  to-night 
because  I  shall  soon  feel  strong  in  my  own  right  as  a  man, 
and  able  to  do  more  than  you  might  guess.  If,  as  you 
gay,  no  man  can  help  you,  I  will  wait  and  be  patient  with 

you." 

"  That 's  all  we  can  do  now,  my  child.  I  was  n't  re- 
proaching you  for  speaking,  for  you  've  held  your  peace 
a  long  while,  when  I  know  you  've  been  fretting  ;  but  this 
is  n't  one  of  the  troubles  that 's  lightened  by  speech,  be- 
cause all  talking  must  go  around  the  outside,  and  never 
(ouch  the  thing  itself 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  and  gazed  for  a  long  time  into 
die  fire,  witho''*  speaking. 


Sl8  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Mary  Potter  watched  his  face,  in  the  wavering  light  of 
the  flame.  She  marked  the  growing  decision  of  the  feat- 
ures, the  forward,  fearless  glance  of  the  large,  deep-set  eye, 
the  fuller  firmness  and  sweetness  of  the  mouth,  and  the 
general  expression,  not  only  of  self-reliance,  but  of  author 
ity,  which  was  spread  over  the  entire  countenance.  Both 
her  pride  in  her  son,  and  her  respect  for  him,  increased  as 
she  gazed.  Heretofore,  she  had  rather  considered  hei 
secret  as  her  own  property,  her  right  to  which  he  should 
not  question ;  but  now  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  forced  to 
withhold  something  that  of  right  belonged  to  him.  Ye* 
no  thought  that  the  mysterous  obligation  might  be  broker 
ever  entered  her  mind. 

Gilbert  was  thinking  of  Martha  Deane.  He  had  passed 
that  first  timidity  of  love  which  shrinks  from  the  knowledge 
of  others,  and  longed  to  tell  his  mother  what  noble  fidelity 
and  courage  Martha  had  exhibited.  Only  the  recollection 
of  the  fearful  swoon  into  which  she  had  fallen  bound  his 
tongue ;  he  felt  that  the  first  return  to  the  subject  must 
come  from  her.  She  lay  back  in  her  chair  and  seemed  to 
sleep ;  he  rose  from  time  to  time,  went  out  into  the  lane 
and  listened,  —  and  so  the  hours  passed  away. 

Towards  midnight  a  heavy  step  was  heard,  and  Deb. 
Smith,  hot,  panting,  her  arms  daubed  with  earth,  and  a  wild 
light  in  her  eyes,  entered  the  kitchen.  With  one  hand  she 
grasped  the  ends  of  her  strong  tow-linen  apron,  with^  the 
other  she  still  shouldered  the  spade.  She  knelt  upon  the 
floor  between  the  two,  set  the  apron  in  the  light  of  the  fire, 
uarolled  the  end  of  a  leathern  saddle-bag,  and  disclosed 
the  recovered  treasure. 

"  See  if  it 's  all  right ! "  she  said. 

Mary  Potter  and  Gilbert  bent  over  the  rolls  and  counted 
them.     It  was  the  entire  sum,  untouched. 

"  Have  you  got  a  sup  o'  whiskey,  Mr.  Gilbert  ? "  Deb. 
Smith  asked.  "  Ugh !  I  'm  hot  and  out  o'  breath,  and  yet 
I  feel  mortal  cold.    There  was  a  screech-owl  hootin'  in  thi 


THE  STOKY   OF   KENNETT.  81$ 

eedar  ;  and  I  dunno  how  't  is,  but  there  always  seems  to  be 
things  around,  where  money  's  buried.  You  can't  see  'em, 
but  you  hear  'em.  I  thought  I  'd  ha'  dropped  when  1 
turned  up  the  sassyfrack  bush,  and  got  hold  on  it ;  and  all 
the  way  back  I  feared  a  big  arm  'd  come  out  o'  every  fence- 
comer,  and  snatch  it  from  me  !  "  * 

Mary  Potter  set  the  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  Deb.  Smith 
was  soon  refreshed  with  a  glass  of  hot  grog.  Then  she 
lighted  her  pipe  and  watched  the  two  as  they  made  prepa- 
rations for  the  journey  to  Chester  on  the  morrow,  now  and 
then  nodding  her  head  with  an  expression  which  chased 
away  the  haggard  sorrow  from  her  features. 

This  time  the  journey  was  performed  without  incident. 
The  road  was  safe,  the  skies  were  propitious,  and  Gilbert 
Potter  returned  from  Chester  an  independent  man,  with 
the  redeemed  mortgage  in  his  pocket  His  first  care  was 
to  assiu"e  his  mother  of  the  joyous  fact ;  his  next  to  seek 
Martha  Deane,  and  consult  with  her  about  their  brighten- 
ing future. 

On  the  way  to  Kennett  Square,  he  fell  in  with  Mark, 
who  was  radiant  with  the  promise  of  Richard  Rudd's  new 
house,  secured  to  him  by  the  shrewd  assistance  of  Miss 
Betsy  Lavender. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Gilbert,"  said  he ;  "  don't  you 
think  I  might  as  well  speak  to  Daddy  Fairthom  about 
Sally  ?  I  'm  gettin'  into  good  business  now,  and  I  guess 
th'  old  folks  might  spare  her  pretty  soon." 

"  The  sooner,  Mark,  the  better  for  you ;  and  you  can 
buy  the  wedding-suit  at  once,  for  I  have  your  hundred  dol- 
lars ready." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  wont  use  it,  Gilbert  ?  " 

Who  so  delighted  as  Mark,  when  he  heard  Gilbert's 

1  It  doea  not  seem  to  have  been  generally  known  in  the  neighborhood 
that  the  money  was  onearthed.  A  tradition  of  that  and  other  treason 
boned  by  Sandy  Flash,  is  still  kept  alive;  and  daring  the  past  t«n  yean 
two  midnight  attempts  have  been  made  to  find  it,  within  a  hnndrsd  jrardi 
•f  the  qx>t  indicated  in  the  narrative. 


82G  THE   STORY    OF   KENNETT. 

unexpected  story  ?  "  Oh,  glory  ! "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  thf 
tide  's  tumin',  old  fellow !  What  '11  you  bet  you  're  nol 
married  before  I  am  ?  It 's  got  all  over  the  country  that 
you  and  Martha  are  engaged,  and  that  the  Doctor  's  full  o' 
gall  and  wormwood  about  it ;  I  hear  it  wherever  I  go,  and 
there  's  more  for  you  than  there  is  against  you,  I  tell  you 
that!" 

The  fact  was  as  Mark  had  stated.  No  one  was  posi- 
tively known  to  have  spread  the  rumor,  but  it  was  afloat 
and  generally  believed.  The  result  was  to  invest  Gilbert 
with  a  fresh  interest.  His  courage  in  confronting  Sand} 
Flash,  his  robbery,  his  wonderful  preservation  from  death 
and  his  singular  connection,  through  Deb.  Smith,  with 
Sandy  Flash's  capture,  had  thrown  a  romantic  halo  around 
his  name,  which  was  now  softly  brightened  by  the  report 
of  his  love.  The  stain  of  his  birth  and  the  uncertainty 
of  his  parentage  did  not  lessen  this  interest,  but  rather 
increased  it ;  and  as  any  man  who  is  much  talked  about  in 
a  country  community  will  speedily  find  two  parties  created, 
one  enthusiastically  admiring,  the  other  contemptuously 
depreciating  him,  so  now  it  happened  in  this  case. 

The  admirers,  however,  were  in  a  large  majority,  and 
they  possessed  a  great  advantage  over  the  detractors,  being 
supported  by  a  multitude  of  facts,  while  the  latter  were 
unable  to  point  to  any  act  of  Gilbert  Potter's  life  that  was 
not  upright  and  honorable.  Even  his  love  of  Martha 
Deane  was  shorn  of  its  presumption  by  her  reciprocal  af- 
fection. The  rumor  that  she  had  openly  defied  her  father's 
will  created  great  sympathy,  for  herself  and  for  Gilbert, 
among  the  young  people  of  both  sexes,  —  a  sympathy 
which  frequently  was  made  manifest  to  Dr.  Deane,  and 
annoyed  him  not  a  little.  His  stubborn  opposition  to  his 
daughter's  attachment  increased,  in  proportion  as  his  power 
to  prevent  it  diminished. 

We  may  therefore  conceive  his  sensations  when  Gilbert 
Potter  himself  bold  y  entered  his  presence.     The  latter 


THE   STORY   OF   KENNETT.  321 

■ftet  Mark's  description,  very  imperfect  though  it  was,  of 
Martha's  courageous  assertion  of  the  rights  of  her  heart, 
had  swiftly  made  up  his  mind  to  stand  beside  her  in  the 
struggle,  with  equal  firmness  and  equal  pride.  He  would 
openly  seek  an  interview  with  her,  and  if  he  should  find 
her  father  at  home,  as  was  probable  at  that  hour,  would 
frankly  and  respectfully  acknowledge  his  love,  and  defend 
it  against  any  attack. 

On  entering  the  room,  he  quietly  stepped  forward  with 
extended  hand,  and  saluted  the  Doctor,  who  was  so  taken 
by  surprise  that  he  mechanically  answered  the  greeting 
before  he  could  reflect  what  manner  to  adopt  towards  the 
unwelcome  visitor. 

"  What  might  be  thy  business  with  me  ? "  he  asked, 
stiffly,  recovering  from  the  first  shock. 

"  I  called  to  see  Martha,"  Gilbert  answered.  "  I  have 
some  news  which  she  will  be  glad  to  hear." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  his  sternest  face 
and  voice,  "  I  may  as  well  come  to  the  point  with  thee,  at 
once.  If  thee  had  had  decency  enough  to  apply  to  me  be- 
fore speaking  thy  mind  to  Martha,  it  would  have  saved  us 
all  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  I  could  have  told  thee  then,  as 
I  tell  thee  now,  that  I  will  never  consent  to  her  marriage 
with  thee.  Thee  must  give  up  all  thought  of  such  a 
thing." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  Gilbert  replied,  "  when  Martha  tells  me 
with  her  own  mouth  that  such  is  her  will.  I  am  not  one 
of  the  men  who  manage  their  hearts  according  to  circum- 
stances. I  wish,  indeed,  I  were  more  worthy  of  Martha ; 
but  I  am  trying  to  deserve  her,  and  I  know  no  better  way 
than  to  be  faithful  as  she  is  faithful.  I  mean  no  disrespect 
to  you.  Dr.  Deane.  You  are  her  father ;  you  have  every 
right  to  care  for  her  happiness,  and  I  will  admit  that  you 
honestly  think  I  am  not  the  man  who  could  make  her 
happy.  All  I  ask  is,  that  you  should  wait  a  little  and  know 
me  better.  Martha  and  I  have  Iwth  decided  that  we  must 
U 


822  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

wait,  and  there  is  time  enough  for  you  to  watch  my  ooii> 
duct,  examine  my  character,  and  perhaps  come  to  a  mort 
favorable  judgment  of  me." 

Dr.  Deane  saw  that  it  would  be  harder  to  deal  with 
Gilbert  Potter  than  he  had  imagined.  The  young  man 
stood  before  him  so  honestly  and  fearlessly,  meeting  his 
angry  gaze  with  such  calm,  frank  eyes,  and  braving  his 
despotic  will  with  such  a  modest,  respectful  opposal,  that 
he  was  forced  to  withdraw  from  his  haughty  position,  and 
to  set  forth  the  same  reasons  which  he  had  presented  to 
his  daughter. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  slightly  less  arrogant,  "  that 
thee  is  sensible,  in  some  respects,  and  therefore  I  put  the 
case  to  thy  understanding.  It 's  too  plain  to  be  argued. 
Martha  is  a  rich  bait  for  a  poor  man,  and  perhaps  I 
ought  n't  to  wonder  —  knowing  the  heart  of  man  as  I  do 
—  that  thee  was  tempted  to  turn  her  head  to  favor  thee ; 
but  the  money  is  not  yet  hers,  and  I,  as  her  father,  can 
never  allow  that  thy  poverty  shall  stand  for  three  years 
between  her  and  some  honorable  man  to  whom  her  money 
would  be  no  temptation !  Why,  if  all  I  hear  be  true, 
thee  has  n't  even  any  certain  roof  to  shelter  a  wife ; 
thy  property,  such  as  it  is,  may  be  taken  out  of  thy 
hands ! " 

Gilbert  could  not  calmly  hear  these  insinuations.  All 
his  independent  pride  of  character  was  aroused ;  a  dark 
flush  came  into  his  face,  the  blood  was  pulsing  hotly  through 
his  veins,  and  indignant  speech  was  rising  to  his  lips,  when 
the  inner  door  unexpectedly  opened,  and  Martha  entered 
the  room. 

She  instantly  guessed  what  was  taking  place,  and  sum- 
moned up  all  her  self-possession,  to  stand  by  Gilbert,  with- 
out increasing  her  father's  exasperation.  To  the  former, 
her  apparition  was  like  oil  on  troubled  waters.  His  quick 
blood  struck  into  warm  channels  of  joy,  as  he  met  hei 
glowing  eyes,  and  felt  the  throb  of  her  soft,  elastic  pains 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  823 

■gainst  his  (/wn.  Dr.  Deane  set  his  teeth,  drew  up  his 
under  lip,  and  handled  his  cane  with  restless  fingers. 

"  Father,"  said  ^Martha,  "  if  you  are  talking  of  me,  it  is 
2>etter  that  I  should  be  present.  I  am  sure  there  is  noth- 
mg  that  either  thee  or  Gilbert  would  wish  to  conceal  from 
rce." 

"  No,  Martha ! "  Gilbert  exclaimed ;  "  I  came  to  bring 
you  good  news.  The  mortgage  on  my  farm  is  lifted,  and  I 
am  an  independent  man  ! " 

"  Without  my  help  !     Does  thee  hear  that,  father  ?  " 

Gilbert  did  not  understand  her  remark ;  without  heed- 
ing it,  he  continued,  — 

"  Sandy  Flash,  after  his  sentence,  sent  for  me  and  told 
me  where  the  money  he  took  from  me  was  to  be  found.  I 
carried  it  to  Chester,  and  have  paid  off  all  my  remaining 
debt  Martha,  your  father  has  just  charged  me  with  being 
tempted  by  your  property.  I  say  to  you,  in  his  presence, 
put  it  beyond  my  reach,  —  give  it  away,  forfeit  the  condi- 
tions of  the  legacy,  —  let  me  show  truly  whether  I  ever 
thought  of  money  in  seeking  you  !  " 

"  Gilbert,"  she  said,  gently,  "  father  does  n't  yet  know 
you  as  I  do.  Others  will  no  doubt  say  the  same  thing,  and 
we  must  both  make  up  our  minds  to  have  it  said ;  yet  I 
cannot,  for  that,  relinquish  what  is  mine  of  right  We  are 
not  called  upon  to  sacrifice  to  the  mistaken  opinions  of 
men  ;  your  life  and  mine  will  show,  and  manifest  to  others 
in  time,  whether  it  is  a  selfish  tie  that  binds  us  together." 

"  Martha ! "  Dr.  Deane  exclaimed,  feeling  that  he  should 
lose  ground,  unless  this  turn  of  the  conversation  were  in- 
terrupted ;  "  thee  compels  me  to  show  thee  how  impossible 
the  thing  is,  even  if  this  man  were  of  the  richest.  Admit- 
ting that  he  is  able  to  support  a  family,  admitting  that  thee 
waits  three  years,  comes  into  thy  property,  and  is  still  of  a 
mind  to  marry  him  against  my  will,  can  thee  forget  —  oi 
has  he  so  little  consideration  for  thee  as  to  forget  —  thai 
he  bears  his  mother's  name  ?  " 


524  Till    STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

"Father!  ' 

"  Let  me  speak,  Martha,"  said  Gilbert,  lifting  his  head, 
rhich  had  drooped  for  a  moment  His  voice  was  earnest 
and  sorrowful,  yet  firm.  "  It  is  true  that  I  bear  my 
mother's  name.  It  is  the  name  of  a  good,  an  honest,  an 
honorable,  and  a  God-fearing  woman.  I  wish  I  could  be 
certain  that  the  name  which  legally  belongs  to  me  will  be 
as  honorable  and  as  welcome.  But  Martha  knows,  and 
you,  her  father,  have  a  right  to  know,  that  I  shall  have 
another.  I  have  not  been  inconsiderate.  I  trampled 
down  my  love  for  her,  as  long  as  I  believed  it  would  bring 
disgrace.  I  will  not  say  that  now,  knowing  her  as  I  do, 
I  could  ever  give  her  up,  even  if  the  disgrace  was  not 
removed,"  — 

"  Thank  you,  Gilbert !  "  Martha  interrupted. 

"  But  there  is  none,  Dr.  Deane,"  he  continued,  "  and 
when  the  time  comes,  my  birth  will  be  shown  to  be  as  hon- 
orable as  your  own,  or  Mark's." 

Dr.  Deane  was  strangely  excited  at  these  words.  His 
face  colored,  and  he  darted  a  piercing,  suspicious  glance  at 
Gilbert.  The  latter,  however,  stood  quietly  before  him, 
too  possessed  by  what  he  had  said  to  notice  the  Doctor's 
peculiar  expression ;  but  it  returned  to  his  memory  after- 
wards. 

"  Why,"  the  Doctor  at  last  stammered,  "  I  never  heard 
of  this  before  !  " 

"  No,"  Gilbert  answered,  "  and  I  must  ask  of  you  not  to 
mention  it  further,  at  present.  I  must  beg  you  to  be 
patient  until  my  mother  is  able  to  declare  the  truth." 

"  What  keeps  her  from  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Gilbert  sadly  replied. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  the  Doctor,  as  sternly  as  ever,  "  this  ii 
rather  a  likely  story  !     If  Potter  is  n't  thy  name,  what  is  ?  ** 

"  I  don't  know,"  Gilbert  repeated. 

"  No ;  nor  no  one  else  !  How  dare  thee  address  luy 
iaughter,  —  talk  of  marriage  mth  her,  —  when  thee  don't 


THE  STORY  OF  KE>"NETT.  SSH 

know  thy  real  name?  What  name  would  thee  offer  to 
her  in  exchange  for  her  own  ?  Young  man,  I  don't  believe 
thee!" 

"I  do,"  said  Martha,  rising  and  moving  to  Gilbert's 
side. 

"  Martha,  go  to  thy  room  ! "  the  Doctor  cried.  "  And  as 
for  thee,  Gilbert  Potter,  or  Gilbert  Anything,  I  tell  thee, 
once  and  for  all.  never  speak  of  this  thing  again,  —  at  least, 
until  thee  can  show  a  legal  name  and  an  honorable  birth  ! 
Thee  has  not  prejudiced  me  in  thy  favor  by  thy  devices, 
and  it  stands  to  reason  that  I  should  forbid  thee  to  see  my 
daughter,  —  to  enter  my  doors !  " 

"  Dr.  Deane,"  said  Gilbert,  with  sad  yet  inflexible  dig- 
nity, "  it  is  impossible,  after  what  you  have  said,  that  I 
should  seek  to  enter  your  door,  until  my  words  are  proved 
true,  and  I  am  justified  in  your  eyes.  The  day  may  come 
sooner  than  you  think.  But  I  will  do  nothing  secretly ;  I 
won't  promise  anything  to  you  that  I  can't  promise  to  my- 
self; and  so  I  tell  you,  honestly  and  above-board,  that 
while  I  shall  not  ask  Martha  to  share  my  life  until  I  can 
offer  her  my  true  name,  I  must  see  her  from  time  to  time. 
I  'm  not  fairly  called  upon  to  give  up  that." 

"  No,  Gilbert,"  said  Martha,  who  had  not  yet  moved  from 
her  place  by  his  side,  "  it  is  as  necessary  to  my  happiness 
as  to  yours.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  come  here  again  ;  you 
cannot,  and  must  not,  even  for  my  sake ;  but  when  I  need 
your  counsel  and  your  sympathy,  and  there  is  no  other 
way  left,  I  will  go  to  you." 

"  Martha !  "  Dr.  Deane  exclaimed ;  but  the  word  con- 
veys no  idea  of  his  wrath  and  amazement. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  this  is  thy  house,  and  it  is  for  thee 
to  direct,  here.  Within  its  walls,  I  will  conduct  myself 
according  to  thy  wishes ;  I  will  receive  no  guest  whom 
thee  forbids,  and  will  even  respect  thy  views  in  regard  to 
my  intercourse  with  our  fi-iends ;  but  unless  thee  wants  to 
deprive  me  of  all  liberty,  and  set  aside  every  right  of  mine 


526  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

as  an  accountable  being,  thee  must  allow  me  sometimes  to 
do  what  both  my  heart  and  my  conscience  command ! " 

"  Is  it  a  woman's  place,"  he  angrily  asked,  "  to  visit  a 
man  ?  " 

"  When  the  two  have  need  of  each  other,  and  God  has 
joined  their  hearts  in  love  and  in  truth,  and  the  man  is 
held  back  from  reaching  the  woman,  then  it  is  her  place  to 
go  to  him  !  " 

Never  before  had  Dr.  Deane  beheld  upon  his  daughter's 
sweet,  gentle  face  such  an  expression  of  lofty  spiritual  au- 
thority. While  her  determination  really  outraged  his  con- 
ventional nature,  he  felt  that  it  came  from  a  higher  source 
than  his  prohibition.  He  knew  that  nothing  which  he 
could  urge  at  that  moment  would  have  the  slightest  weight 
in  her  mind,  and  moreover,  that  the  liberal,  independent 
customs  of  the  neighborhood,  as  well  as  the  respect  of  his 
sect  for  professed  spiritual  guidance,  withheld  him  from 
any  harsh  attempt  at  coercion.  He  was  powerless,  but 
still  inflexible. 

As  for  Martha,  what  she  had  said  was  simply  included 
in  what  she  was  resolved  to  do  ;  the  greater  embraced  the 
less.  It  was  a  defiance  of  her  father's  authority,  very  pain- 
ful from  the  necessity  of  its  assertion,  but  rendered  inev- 
itable by  his  course.  She  knew  with  what  tenacity  he 
would  seize  and  hold  every  inch  of  relinquished  ground ; 
she  felt,  as  keenly  as  Gilbert  himself,  the  implied  insult 
which  he  could  not  resent ;  and  her  pride,  her  sense  of 
justice,  and  the  strong  fidelity  of  her  woman's  heart,  alike 
impelled  her  to  stand  firm. 

"  Good-bye,  Martha ! "  Gilbert  said,  taking  her  hand 
*  I  must  wait." 

'*  We  wait  together,  Gilbert  I " 


THE  810RY  01^  KENNETT.  Biff 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

MISS   LAVENDER   MAKES   A   GUESS. 

There  were  signs  of  spring  all  over  the  land,  and  Gil- 
bert resumed  his  farm- work  with  the  fresh  zest  which  the 
sense  of  complete  ownership  gave.  He  found  a  purchaser 
for  his  wagon,  sold  one  span  of  horses,  and  thus  had 
money  in  hand  for  all  the  coming  expenses  of  the  year. 
His  days  of  hauling,  of  anxiety,  of  painful  economy,  were 
over ;  he  rejoiced  in  his  fully  developed  and  recognized 
manhood,  and  was  cheered  by  the  respect  and  kindly  sym- 
pathy of  his  neighbors. 

Meanwhile,  the  gossip,  not  only  of  Kennett,  but  of  Marl- 
borough, Pennsbury,  and  New- Garden,  was  as  busy  as  ever. 
No  subject  of  country  valk  equalled  in  interest  the  loves 
of  Gilbert  Potter  and  Martha  Deane.  Mark,  too  open- 
hearted  to  b^  'atrusted  with  any  secret,  was  drawn  upon 
wherever  he  went,  and  he  revealed  more  (although  he 
was  by  no  means  Martha's  confidant)  than  the  public  had 
any  right  to  know.  The  idlers  at  the  Unicorn  had  seen 
Gilbert  enter  Dr.  Deane's  house,  watched  his  return  there- 
from, made  shrewd  notes  of  the  Doctor's  manner  when  he 
came  forth  that  evening,  and  guessed  the  result  of  the  'n- 
terview  almost  as  well  as  if  they  had  been  present 

The  restoration  of  Gilbert's  plundered  money,  and  his 
hardly  acquired  independence  as  a  landholder,  greatly 
strengthened  the  hands  of  his  friends.  There  is  no  logic 
so  convincing  as  that  of  good  luck ;  in  proportion  as  a 
man  is  fortunate  (so  seems  to  run  the  law  of  the  world), 
he  attracts  fortune  to  him.     A  good  deed  would  not  have 


sun  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETr. 

helped  Gilbert  so  much,  in  popular  estimation,  as  this  &ud 
den  and  unexpected  release*  from  his  threatened  difficul 
ties.     The  blot  upon  his  name  was  already  growing  fainter, 
and  a  careful  moral  arithmetician  might  have  calculated 
the  point  of  prosperity  at  which  it  would  cease  to  be  seen. 

Nowhere  was  the  subject  discussed  with  greater  interest 
and  excitement  than  in  the  Fairthorn  household.  Sally, 
when  she  first  heard  the  news,  loudly  protested  her  un- 
belief; why,  the  two  would  scarcely  speak  to  each  other, 
she  said ;  she  had  seen  Gilbert  turn  his  back  on  Martha, 
as  if  he  could  n't  bear  the  sight  of  her ;  it  ought  to  be, 
and  she  would  be  glad  if  it  was,  but  it  was  n't ! 

When,  therefore,  Mark  confirmed  the  report,  and  was 
led  on,  by  degrees,  to  repeat  Gilbert's  own  words,  Sally 
rushed  out  into  the  kitchen  with  a  vehemence  which  left 
half  her  apron  hanging  on  the  door-handle,  torn  off  from 
top  to  bottom  in  her  whirling  flight,  and  announced  the 
fact  to  her  mother. 

Joe,  who  was  present,  immediately  cried  out,  — 

"  O,  Sally  !  now  I  may  tell  about  Mark,  may  n't  I  ?  " 

Sally  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  pitched  him  out  the 
kitchen-door.     Her  face  was  the  color  of  fire. 

"  My  gracious,  Sally  !  "  exclaimed  Mother  Fairthorn,  in 
amazement ;  "  what 's  that  for  ?  " 

But  Sally  had  already  disappeared,  and  was  relating  her 
trouble  to  Mark,  who  roared  with  wicked  laughter,  where- 
upon she  nearly  cried  with  vexation. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  he  ;  *'  the  boy  's  right  I  told  Gil- 
bert this  very  afternoon  that  it  was  about  time  to  speak  to 
the  old  man  ;  and  he  allowed  it  was.  Come  out  with  me 
and  don't  be  afeard  —  I  '11  do  the  talkin'." 

Hand  in  hand  they  went  into  the  kitchen,  Sally  blushing 
and  hanging  back  a  little.  Farmer  Fairthorn  had  just 
come  in  from  the  bam,  and  was  warming  his  hands  at  the 
fire.  Mother  Fairthorn  might  have  had  her  suspicions, 
bult  it  was  her  nature  to  wait  cheerfully,  and  say  nothing. 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT.  SS9 

"  See  bare,  Daddy  and  Mammy !  "  said  Mark,  "  have 
either  o'  you  any  objections  to  Sally  and  me  bein'  a  pair  ? " 

Fanner  Fairthom  smiled,  rubbed  his  hands  together 
and  turning  to  his  wife,  asked,  —  "  What  has  Mammy  to 
say  to  it  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  Mark  with  her  kindly  eyes,  in  which 
'jwinkled  something  like  a  tear,  and  said, —  "  I  was  guessin 
it  might  turn  out  so  between  you  two,  and  if  I  'd  had  any- 
thing against  you,  Mark,  I  would  n't  ha'  let  it  run  on.  Be 
a  steady  boy,  and  you  '11  make  Sally  a  steady  woman. 
She  's  had  pretty  much  her  own  way." 

Thereupon  Farmer  Fairthom,  still  rubbing  his  hands, 
ventured  to  remark,  —  "  The  girl  might  ha'  done  worse." 
This  was  equivalent  to  a  hearty  commendation  of  the 
match,  and  Mark  so  understood  it  Sally  kissed  her  mother, 
cried  a  little,  caught  her  gown  on  a  corner  of  the  kitchen- 
table,  and  thus  the  betrothal  was  accepted  as  a  family  fact 
Joe  and  Jake  somewhat  disturbed  the  bliss  of  the  evening, 
it  is  true,  by  bursting  into  the  room  fi'om  time  to  time, 
staring  significantly  at  the  lovers,  and  then  rushing  out 
again  with  loud  whoops  and  laughter. 

Sally  could  scarcely  await  the  coming  of  the  next  day, 
to  visit  Martha  Deane.  At  first  she  felt  a  little  piqued 
that  she  had  not  received  the  news  from  Martha's  own 
lips,  but  this  feeling  sj>eedily  vanished  in  the  sympathy 
with  her  friend's  trials.  She  was  therefore  all  the  more 
astonished  at  the  quiet,  composed  bearing  of  the  latter. 
The  tears  she  had  expected  to  shed  were  not  once  drawn 
upon. 

"  O,  Martha  ! "  she  cried,  after  the  first  impetuous  out- 
burst of  feeling,  —  "to  think  that  it  has  all  turned  out  just 
as  I  wanted  !  No,  I  don't  quite  mean  that ;  you  know  I 
could  n't  wish  you  to  have  crosses  ;  but  about  Gilbert 
And  it 's  too  bad  —  Mark  has  told  me  dreadful  thingSi 
but  I  hope  they  're  not  all  true  ;  you  don't  look  like  it 
and  I  'ni  so  glad,  you  can't  think  1 " 


ftSO  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Martha  smiled,  readily  ui  tangling  Sally's  thoughts,  and 
said,  —  "I  must  n't  complain,  Sally.  Nothing  has  come 
to  pass  that  I  had  not  prepared  my  mind  to  meet.  We 
wrill  only  have  to  wait  a  little  longer  than  you  and  Mark." 

"  No  you  won't ! "  Sally  exclaimed.  "  I  '11  make  Mark 
WMt,  too  !  And  everything  must  be  set  right  —  some- 
body must  do  something !     Where  's  Betsy  Lavender  ?  " 

"  Here  !  "  answered  the  veritable  voice  of  the  spinster, 
through  the  open  door  of  the  small  adjoining  room. 

"  Gracious,  how  you  frightened  me  ! "  cried  Sally.  "  But, 
Betsy,  you  seem  to  be  able  to  help  everybody ;  why  can't 
you  do  something  for  Martha  and  Gilbert  ? " 

"  Martha  and  Gilbert.  That 's  what  I  ask  myself,  nigh 
onto  a  hundred  times  a  day,  child.  But  there  's  things  that 
takes  the  finest  kind  o'  wit  to  see  through,  and  you  can't 
make  a  bead-purse  out  of  a  sow's-ear,  neither  jerk  Time  by 
the  forelock,  when  there  a'n't  a  hair,  as  you  can  see,  to 
hang  on  to.  I  dunno  as  you  '11  rightly  take  my  meanin'; 
but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  I  'm  flummuxed,  and  it 's  the 
longest  and  hardest  flummux  o'  my  life  !  " 

Miss  Betsy  Lavender,  it  must  here  be  explained,  was 
more  profoundly  worried  than  she  was  willing  to  admit. 
Towards  Martha  she  concealed  the  real  trouble  of  her 
mind  under  the  garb  of  her  quaint,  jocular  speech,  which 
meant  much  or  little,  as  one  might  take  it.  She  had  just 
returned  from  one  of  her  social  pilgrimages,  during  which 
she  had  heard  nothing  but  the  absorbing  subject  of  gossip. 
She  had  been  questioned  and  cross-questioned,  entreated 
by  many,  as  Sally  had  done,  to  do  something  (for  all  had 
great  faith  in  her  powers),  and  warned  by  a  few  not  to 
meddle  with  what  did  not  concern  her.  Thiis  she  had 
come  back  that  morning,  annoyed,  discomposed,  and  more 
dissatisfied  with  herself  than  ever  before,  to  hear  Martha's 
recital  of  what  had  taken  place  during  her  absence. 

In  spite  of  Martha's  steady  patience  and  cheerfulness, 
Siiss  Lavender  knew  that  the  painful  ^elation  in  which  she 


TUE  STOKY   OF   KENNETT.  SSI 

Stood  to  her  lather  would  not  be  assuaged  by  the  lapse  of 
time.  She  understood  Dr.  Deane's  nature  quite  as  well  aa 
his  daughter,  and  was  convinced  that,  for  the  present, 
neither  threats  nor  persuasions  would  move  his  stubborn 
resistance.  According  to  the  judgment  of  the  w^orld  (the 
older  part  of  it,  at  least),  he  had  still  right  on  his  side. 
Facts  were  wanted ;  or,  rather,  the  one  fact  upon  which 
resistance  was  based  nmst  be  removed. 

With  all  this  trouble,  Miss  Lavender  had  a  presentiment 
that  there  was  work  for  her  to  do,  if  she  could  only  dis- 
cover what  it  was.  Her  faith  in  her  own  powers  of  assist- 
ance was  somewhat  shaken,  and  she  therefore  resolved  to 
say  nothing,  promise  uothiug,  until  she  had  both  hit  upon 
a  plan  and  carried  it  into  execution. 

Two  or  three  days  after  Sally's  visit,  on  a  mild,  sunny 
morning  in  the  beginning  of  April,  she  suddenly  announced 
her  intention  of  visiting  the  Potter  farm-house. 

"  I  ha'  n't  seen  Mary  since  last  fall,  you  know,  Martha,'* 
she  said ;  "  and  I  've  a  mortal  longin'  to  wish  Gilbert  joy 
o'  his  good  luck,  and  maybe  say  a  word  to  keep  him  in 
good  heart  about  you.  Have  you  got  no  message  to  send 
by  me  ?  " 

"  Only  my  love,"  Martha  answered ;  "  and  tell  him  how 
you  left  me.  He  knows  I  will  keep  my  word ;  when  I 
need  his  counsel,  I  will  go  to  him." 

"  If  more  girls  talked  and  thought  that  way,  us  women  *d 
have  fairer  shakes,"  Miss  Lavender  remarked,  as  she  put 
on  her  cloak  and  pattens. 

When  she  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  overlooking  the 
glen,  she  noticed  fresh  furrows  in  the  field  on  her  left. 
Clambering  through  the  fence,  she  waited  until  the  heads 
of  a  pair  of  horses  made  their  appearance,  rising  over  the 
verge  of  the  hill.  As  she  conjectured,  Gilbert  Potter  was 
behind  them,  guiding  the  plough-handle.  He  was  heartily 
glad  to  see  her,  and  halted  his  team  at  the  comer  ^f  tlie 
"land." 


S89  THE  STORY  OF    KENNETT. 

"  I  did  n't  know  as  you  *d  speak  to  me,"  said  she,  with 
assumed  grimness.  "Maybe  you  would  n't,  if  I  did  n*t 
come  direct  from  her.  Ah,  you  need  n't  look  wild ;  it  *8 
only  her  love,  and  what 's  the  use,  for  you  had  it  already ; 
but  never  mind,  lovyers  is  never  satisfied ;  and  she  's  chip- 
per and  peart  enough,  seein'  what  she  has  to  bear  for  your 
sake,  but  she  don't  mind  that,  on  the  contrkry,  quite  the 
reverse,  and  I  'm  sure  you  don't  deserve  it ! " 

"  Did  she  tell  you  what  passed  between  us,  the  last 
time  ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

*'  The  last  time.  Yes.  And  jokin'  aside,  which  oflen 
means  the  contrary  in  my  crooked  ways  o'  talkin',  a'n't  it 
about  time  somethin'  was  done  ?  " 

"  What  can  be  done  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Miss  Lavender,  gravely.  "  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  what 's  in  the  way,  or  rather  none  of  us 
knows  what  it  is,  only  wh^re  it  is  ;  and  a  thing  unbeknown 
may  be  big  or  little  ;  who  can  tell  ?  And  latterly  I  've 
thought,  Gilbert,  that  maybe  your  mother  is  in  the  fix  of  a 
man  I  've  heerd  tell  on,  that  fell  into  a  pit,  and  ketched  by 
the  last  bush,  and  hung  on,  and  hung  on,  till  he  could  hold 
on  no  longer ;  so  he  gev  himself  up  to  death,  shet  his  eyes 
and  let  go,  and  lo  and  behold !  the  bottom  was  a  matter  o' 
six  inches  under  his  feet !  Leastways,  everything  p'ints  to 
a  sort  o'  skeary  fancy  bein'  mixed  up  with  it,  not  a  thing  to 
laugh  at,  I  can  tell  you,  but  as  earnest  as  sin,  for  I  've  seen 
the  likes,  and  maybe  easy  to  make  straight  if  you  could 
only  look  into  it  yourself;  but  you  think  there  's  no  chance 
o'that?" 

"  No,"  said  Gilbert  "  I  've  tried  once  too  often,  already ; 
I  shall  not  try  again." 

"  Try  again,"  Miss  Lavender  repeated.  "  Then  why 
not?"  —  but  here  she  paused,  and  seemed  to  meditate. 
The  fact  was,  she  had  been  tempted  to  ask  Gilbert's 
advice  in  regard  to  the  plan  she  was  revolving  in  her  brain 
The  tone  of  his  voice,  however,  was  discouraging ;  she  saw 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETl.  3&8 

diftt  he  had  taken  a  finn  and  gloomy  resolution  to  be  silent, 
—  his  uneasy  air  hinted  that  he  desired  to  avoid  further 
talk  on  this  point.  So,  with  a  mental  reprimand  of  the 
indiscretion  into  which  her  sympathy  with  him  had  nearly 
betrayed  her,  she  shut  her  teeth  and  slightly  bit  her 
tongue. 

''Well,  well,"  she  said ;  "I  hope  it  1\  come  out  before 
you  're  both  old  and  sour  with  waitin',  that 's  all !  I  don't 
want  such  true-love  as  your'n  to  be  like  firkin-butter  at  th' 
end ;  for  as  fresh,  and  firm,  and  well-kep'  as  you  please,  it 
ha'n't  got  the  taste  o'  the  clover  and  the  sweet-grass  ;  but 
who  knows  ?  I  may  dance  at  your  weddin',  after  all,  soon- 
er 'n  I  mistrust ;  and  so  I  *m  goin'  down  to  spend  the  day 
with  y'r  mother !  " 

She  strode  over  the  furrow  and  across  the  weedy  sod, 
and  Gilbert  resumed  his  ploughing.  As  she  approached 
the  house,  Miss  Lavender  noticed  that  the  secured  owner- 
ship of  the  property  was  beginning  to  express  itself  in 
various  slight  improvements  and  adornments.  The  space 
in  front  of  the  porch  was  enlarged,  and  new  flower-borders 
set  along  the  garden-paling  ;  the  bam  had  received  a  fresh 
coat  of  whitewash,  as  well  as  the  trunks  of  the  apple-trees, 
which  shone  like  white  pillars  ;  and  there  was  a  bench  with 
bright  straw  bee-hives  under  the  lilac-bush.  Mary  Potter 
was  at  work  in  the  garden,  sowing  her  early  seeds. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Lavender,  after 
the  first  cordial  greetings  were  over.  "  Seems  almost  like 
a  different  place,  things  is  so  snugged  up  and  put  tc 
rights." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Potter ;  "  I  had  hardly  the  heart, 
before,  to  make  it  everything  that  we  wanted ;  ar  d  you 
ean't  think  what  a  satisfaction  I  have  in  it  now." 

"  Yes,  I  can  !  Give  me  the  redishes,  while  you  stick  in 
them  beets.  1  've  got  a  good  forefinger  for  plantin'  em,— 
long  and  stiff;  and  I  can't  stand  by  and  see  you  workin 
•lone,  without  fidgets." 


384  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Miss  Lavender  threw  off  her  cloak  and  worked  yriih  a 
will.  When  the  gardening  was  finished,  she  continued  hei 
assistance  in  the  house,  and  fully  earned  her  dinner  before 
she  sat  down  to  it.  Then  she  insisted  on  Mary  Potter 
brii  ging  out  her  sewing,  and  giving  her  something  more  to 
do ;  it  was  one  of  her  working-days,  she  said ;  she  had 
spent  rather  an  idle  winter ;  and  moreover,  she  was  in  such 
spirits  at  Gilbert's  good  fortune,  that  she  could  n't  be  satis- 
fied without  doing  something  for  him,  and  to  sew  up  the 
seams  of  his  new  breeches  was  the  very  thing !  Never 
had  she  been  so  kind,  so  cheerful,  and  so  helpful,  and 
Mary  Potter's  nature  wanned  into  happy  content  in  her 
society. 

No  one  should  rashly  accuse  Miss  Lavender  if  there  was 
a  little  design  in  this.  The  task  she  had  set  herself  to  at- 
tempt was  both  difficult  and  delicate.  She  had  divided  it 
into  two  portions,  requiring  very  different  tactics,  and  was 
shrewd  enough  to  mask,  in  every  possible  way,  the  one 
from  which  she  had  most  hopes  of  obtaining  a  result.  She 
made  no  reference,  at  first,  to  Gilbert's  attachment  to  Mar- 
tha Deane,  but  seemed  to  be  wholly  absorbed  in  the  subject 
of  the  farm  ;  then,  taking  wide  sweeps  through  all  varieties 
of  random  gossip,  preserving  a  careless,  thoughtless,  rat- 
tling manner,  she  stealthily  laid  her  pitfalls  for  the  unsus- 
pecting prey. 

"  I  was  over  't  Warren's  f  other  day,"  she  said,  biting  off 
a  thread,  "  and  Becky  had  jist  come  home  from  Phildel- 
phy.  There  's  new-fashioned  bonnets  comin'  up,  she  says. 
She  stayed  with  Allen's,  but  who  they  are  I  don't  know. 
Laws !  now  I  think  on  it,  Mary,  you  stayed  at  Allen's,  too, 
when  you  were  there  ! " 

«  No,"  said  Mary  Potter,  "  it  was  at  —  Treadwell's." 

**  Treadwell's  r  I  thought  you  told  me  Allen's.  All  the 
same  to  me,  Allen  or  Treadwell ;  I  don't  know  either  of 
*em.  It 's  a  long  while  since  I  've  been  in  Phildelphy,  and 
never  likely  to  go  ag'in.     I  don't  fancy  trampin'  over  them 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT.  JtSS 

hard  bricks,  though,  to  be  sure,  a  body  sees  the  fashions 
but  what  with  boxes  tumbled  in  and  out  o'  the  stores,  and 
bar'ls  rollin',  and  carts  always  goin'  by,  you  're  never  sure 
o'  y'r  neck  ;  and  I  was  sewin'  for  Clarissa  Lee,  Jackson  that 
was,  that  married  a  dry  goods  man,  the  noisiest  place  that 
ever  was ;  you  could  hardly  hear  yourself  talk ;  but  a  body 
gets  used  to  it,  in  Second  Street,  close't  to  Market,  and 
were  you  anywheres  near  there  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  Fourth  Street,"  Mary  Potter  answered,  with  a 
little  hesitation.  Miss  Lavender  secretly  noticed  her  unea- 
siness, which,  she  also  remarked,  arose  not  from  suspicion, 
but  from  memory. 

"  What  kind  o'  buttons  are  you  goin'  to  have,  Mary  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Horn  splits,  and  bniss  cuts  the  stuffy  and 
mother  o'  pearl  wears  to  eternity,  but  they  're  so  awful 
dear.  Fourth  Street,  you  said  ?  One  street 's  like  anotner 
to  me,  after  you  get  past  the  comers.  I  'd  always  know 
Second,  though,  by  the  tobacco-shop,  with  the  wild  Injun 
at  the  door,  liftin'  his  tonmiyhawk  to  skulp  you  —  ugh  !  — 
but  never  mind,  all  the  same,  skulp  away  for  what  I  care, 
for  I  a'n't  likely  ever  to  lay  eyes  on  you  ag'in !  " 

Having  thus,  with  perhaps  more  volubility  than  was  re- 
quired, covered  up  the  traces  of  her  design,  Miss  Lavender 
cast  about  how  to  conmience  the  second  and  more  hopeless 
attack.  It  was  but  scant  intelligence  which  she  had  gained, 
but  in  that  direction  she  dared  not  venture  further.  What 
she  now  proposed  to  do  required  more  courage  and  less 
cunning. 

Her  manner  gradually  changed  ;  she  allowed  lapses  of 
silence  to  occur,  and  restricted  her  gossip  to  a  much  nar- 
rower sweep.  She  dwelt,  finally,  upon  the  singular  circum- 
stances of  Sandy  Flash's  robbery  of  Gilbert,  and  the  res- 
toration of  the  money. 

"  Talkin'  o'  Deb.  Smith,"  she  then  said,  "  Mary,  do  yon 
mind  when  I  was  here  last  harvest,  and  the  talk  we  had 
■bout  Gilbert  ?    I  've  often  thought  on  it  since,  and  how  I 


886  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

guessed  right  for  once't,  for  I  know  the  ways  o'  men,  tf 
I  am  an  old  maid,  and  so  it 's  come  out  as  I  said,  and  a 
finer  couple  than  they  '11  make  can't  be  found  in  the 
county ! " 

Mary  Potter  looked  up,  with  a  shadow  of  the  old  trouble 
on  her  face.  "  You  know  all  about  it,  Betsy,  then  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Mary,  everybody  knows  about  it  I 
There  's  been  nothin'  else  talked  about  in  the  neighbor- 
hood for  the  last  three  weeks ;  why,  ha'  n't  Gilbert  told 
you  o'  what  passed  between  him  and  Dr.  Deane,  and  how 
Martha  stood  by  him  as  no  woman  ever  stood  by  a  man  ?  ** 

An  expression  of  painful  curiosity,  such  as  shrinks  from 
the  knowledge  it  craves,  came  into  Mary  Potter's  eyes. 
"  Gilbert  has  told  me  nothing,"  she  said,  "  sinco —  since 
that  time." 

"  That  time.  I  won't  ask  you  what  time ;  it 's  neither 
here  nor  there  ;  but  you  ought  to  know  the  run  o'  things, 
when  it 's  common  talk."  And  therewith  Miss  Lavender 
began  at  the  beginning,  and  never  ceased  until  she  had 
brought  the  history,  in  all  its  particulars,  down  to  that  very 
day.  She  did  not  fail  to  enlarge  on  the  lively  and  univer- 
sal interest  in  the  fortunes  of  the  lovers  which  was  mani- 
fested by  the  whole  comnmnity.  Mary  Potter's  face  grew 
paler  and  paler  as  she  spoke,  but  the  tears  which  some 
parts  of  the  recital  called  forth  were  quenched  again,  as  it 
seemed,  by  flashes  of  aroused  pride. 

"Now,"  Miss. Lavender  concluded,  "  you  see  just  how  the 
matter  stands.  I  'm  not  hard  on  you,  savin'  and  exceptin' 
that  facts  is  hard,  which  they  sometimes  are  I  don't  deny ; 
but  here  we  're  all  alone  with  our  two  selves,  and  you  '11 
grant  I  'm  a  friend,  though  I  may  have  queer  ways  o' 
showin'  it ;  and  why  should  n't  I  say  that  all  the  trouble 
comes  o'  Gilbert  bearin'  your  name  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  know  it ! "  Mary  Potter  cried.  **  Is  n't  my 
load   heaped  up  heavier  as  it  comes  towards  the  end' 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  WW 

What  can  I  do  but  wait  till  the  day  when  I  can  give  G?T 
l)ert  his  father's  name  ?  " 

"  His  father's  name !  Then  yon  can  do  it,  some  day  ?  1 
suspicioned  as  much.  And  you  've  been  bound  up  from 
doin'  it,  all  this  while,  —  and  that 's  what 's  been  layin'  so 
heavy  on  your  mind,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Betsy,"  said  Mary  Potter,  with  sudden  energy,  **  1 11 
say  as  much  as  I  dare,  so  that  I  may  keep  my  senses.  I 
fear,  sometimes,  I  'II  break  together  for  want  of  a  friend 
like  you,  to  steady  me  while  I  walk  the  last  steps  of  my 
hard  road.  Gilbert  was  bom  in  wedlock  ;  I  'm  not  bound 
to  deny  that ;  but  I  committed  a  sin,  —  not  the  sin  people 
charge  me  with,  —  and  the  one  that  pe»vuaded  me  to  it  has 
to  answer  for  more  than  I  have.  I  bound  myself  not  to  tell 
the  name  of  Gilbert's  father,  —  not  to  say  where  or  when 
I  was  married,  not  to  do  or  say  anything  to  put  others  on 
the  track,  until  —  but  there  's  the  sin  and  the  trouble  and 
the  punishment  all  in  one.  If  I  told  that,  you  might  guess 
the  rest  You  know  what  a  name  I  've  had  to  bear,  but 
I  've  taken  my  cross  and  fought  my  way,  and  put  up  with 
all  things,  that  I  might  deserve  the  fullest  justification  the 
Lord  has  in  His  hands.  If  I  had  known  all  beforehand, 
Betsy,  —  but  I  expected  the  release  in  a  month  or  two,  and 
it  has  n't  come  in  twenty-five  years  ! " 

"  Twenty-five  years  !  "  repeated  Miss  Lavender,  heedless 
of  the  drops  running  down  her  thin  face.  "  If  there  was 
a  sin,  Mary,  even  as  big  as  a  yearlin'  calf,  you  've  worked 
off  the  cost  of  it,  years  ago  !  If  you  break  your  word  now, 
you  '11  stand  justified  in  the  sight  o'  the  Lord,  and  of  all 
men,  and  even  if  you  think  a  scrimption  of  it 's  left,  re- 
member your  dooty  to  Gilbert,  and  take  a  less  justification 
for  his  sake  !  " 

"  I  've  been  tempted  that  way,  Betsy,  but  the  end  T 

wanted  has  been  set  in  my  mind  so  long  I  can't  get  it  out. 

I  've  seen  the  Lord  s  hand  so  manifest  in  these  past  days, 

that  I  'm  fearsome  to  hurry  His  judgments.     And  theii| 

93 


MS  THE  STORY  OF  KENNKTT. 

dumgli  I  try  not  to,  T  'm  waiting  from  day  to  day,  —  almost 
from  houi'  to  hour,  —  and  it  seems  that  if  I  was  to  give  up 
and  break  my  vow,  He  would  break  it  for  me  the  next 
minute  afterwards,  to  punish  my  impatience  !  " 

"Why,"  Miss  Lavender  exclaimed,  "it  must  be  youf 
husband's  death  you  're  waitin'  for  !  " 

Mary  Potter  started  up  with  a  wild  look  of  alarm.  "  No 
—  no  —  not  his  death  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  should  want  him 
to  —  be  living  !  Ask  me  no  more  questions  ;  forget  what 
I  *ve  said,  if  it  don't  incline  you  to  encourage  me  !  That 's 
why  I  've  told  you  so  much  !  " 

Miss  Lavender  instantly  desisted  from  further  appeal. 
She  rose,  put  her  arm  around  Mary  Potter's  waist,  and 
said,  —  "I  did  n't  mean  to  frighten  or  to  worry  you,  deary. 
I  may  think  your  conscience  has  worked  on  itself,  like,  till 
it 's  ground  a  bit  too  sharp ;  but  I  see  just  how  you  're 
fixed,  and  won't  say  another  word,  without  it  's  to  give 
comfort.  An  open  confession  's  good  for  the  soul,  they 
say,  and  half  a  loaf 's  better  than  no  bread,  and  you  have  n't 
violated  your  word  a  bit,  and  so  let  it  do  you  good  !  " 

In  fact,  when  Mary  Potter  grew  calm,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  relief  the  more  welcome  because  it  was  so  rare  in  her 
experience.  Miss  Lavender,  moreover,  hastened  to  place 
Gilbert's  position  in  a  more  cheerful  light,  and  the  same 
story,  repeated  for  a  different  purpose,  now  assumed  quite 
another  aspect.  She  succeeded  so  well,  that  she  left  be- 
hind her  only  gratitude  for  the  visit. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  came  forth  from  the  farm- 
house, and  commenced  slowly  ascending  the  hill.  She 
stopped  frequently  and  looked  about  her ;  her  narrow 
forehead  was  wrinkled,  and  the  base  of  her  long  nose  was 
set  between  two  deep  furrows.  Her  lips  were  twisted  in 
a  pucker  of  great  perplexity,  and  her  eyes  were  nearly 
closed  in  a  desperate  endeavor  to  solve  some  haunting, 
puzzling  question. 

**  It 's  queer,"  she  muttered  U  herself  when  she  had 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  881 

nearly  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  —  "  it 's  mortal  qacer ! 
Like  a  whij>-poor-will  on  a  moonlight  night:  you  hear  it 
whistlin'  on  the  next  fence-rail,  it  does  n't  seem  a  yard  off, 
you  step  up  to  ketch  it,  and  there  's  nothin'  there  ;  then 
you  step  back  ag'in,  and  '  whip  -  poor  -  will !  whip  -  poor- 
will  ! '  whistles  louder  'n  ever,  —  and  so  on,  the  whole 
night,  and  some  folks  says  they  can  throw  their  voices 
outside  o'  their  bodies,  but  that  's  neither  here  nor 
there. 

"  Now  why  can't  I  ketch  hold  o'  this  thing  ?  It  is  n't  a 
yard  off  me,  I  '11  be  snaked  !  And  I  dunno  what  ever  she 
said  that  makes  me  think  so,  but  I  feel  it  in  my  bones,  and 
no  use  o'  callin'  up  words  ;  it 's  one  o'  them  things  that 
comes  without  callin',  when  they  come  at  all,  and  I  'm  so 
near  guessin'  I  '11  have  no  peace  day  or  night" 

With  many  similar  observations  she  resumed  her  walk, 
and  presently  reached  the  border  of  the  ploughed  land. 
Gilbert's  back  was  towards  her ;  he  was  on  the  descend- 
ing furrow.  She  looked  at  him,  started,  suddenly  lost  her 
breath,  and  stood  with  open  mouth  and  wide,  fixed  eyes. 

"  Ha-ha-a  !  Ha-ha-a-a  !  " 

Loud  and  shrill  her  cry  rang  across  the  valley.  It  was 
like  the  yell  of  a  war-horse,  scenting  the  battle  afar  off. 
All  the  force  of  her  lungs  and  muscles  expended  itself  in 
the  sound. 

The  next  instant  she  dropped  upon  the  moist,  ploughed 
earth,  and  sat  there,  regardless  of  gown  and  petticoat. 
**  Grood  Lord ! "  she  repeated  to  herself,  over  and  over 
again.  Then,  seeing  Gilbert  approaching,  startled  by  the 
cry,  she  slowly  arose  to  her  feet 

"  A  good  guess,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  what 's  mere, 
there  's  ways  o'  provin'  it  He  's  comin',  and  he  must  n't 
know  ;  you  're  a  fool,  Betsy  Lavender,  not  to  keep  your 
wits  better  about  you,  and  go  rousin'  up  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood ;  good  look  that  your  face  is  crooked  and  don'l 
ihow  much  o'  what  *s  goin'  on  inside  !  " 


840  THE  STORf  OF  KENNETT. 

«  What 's  the  matter,  Betsy  ?  "  asked  Gilbert 

"  Nothin'  —  one  o'  my  crazy  notions,"  she  said.  **  I 
used  to  holler  like  a  kildeer  when  I  was  a  girl  and  gof 
out  on  the  Brandywine  hills  alone,  and  I  s'pose  I  must  ha 
thought  about  it,  and  the  yell  sort  o'  come  of  itself,  for  i( 
just  jerked  me  off  o'  my  feet ;  but  you  need  n't  tell  any 
body  that  I  cut  such  capers  in  my  old  days,  not  that  folks  'd 
'nuch  wonder,  but  the  contrary,  for  they  're  used  to  me." 

Gilbert  laughed  heartily,  but  he  hardly  seemed  satisfied 
with  the  explanation.  "You  're  all  of  a  tremble,"  he 
said. 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  it 's  likely,  —  and  my  gownd  all  over 
mud  ;  but  there  's  one  favor  I  want  to  ask  o'  you,  and  no 
common  one,  neither,  namely,  the  loan  of  a  horse  for  a 
week  or  so." 

"  A  horse  ?  "  Gilbert  repeated. 

"  A  horse.  Not  Roger,  by  no  means ;  I  could  n't  ask 
that,  and  he  don't  know  me,  anyhow ;  but  the  least  rough- 
pacin'  o'  them  two,  for  I  've  got  considerable  ridin'  over 
the  country  to  do,  and  I  would  n't  ask  you,  but  it  's  a  busy 
time  o'  year,  and  all  folks  is  n't  so  friendly." 

"You  shall  have  whatever  you  want,  Betsy,"  he  said. 
"  But  you  've  heard  nothing  ?  "  — 

"  Nothin'  o'  one  sort  or  t'other.  Make  yourself  easy, 
lad." 

Gilbert,  however,  had  been  haunted  by  new  surmises 
in  regard  to  Dr.  Deane.  Certain  trifles  had  returned  to  his 
memory  since  the  interview,  and  rathei  than  be  longer  an- 
noyed with  them,  he  now  opened  his  heart  to  Miss  Lavender. 

A  curious  expression  came  over  her  face.  "  You  've  got 
sharp  eyes  and  ears  Gilbert,"  she  said.  "  Now  supposin 
I  wanted  your  horse  o'  purpose  to  clear  up  your  doubts  ir 
a  way  to  satisfy  you,  would  you  mind  lettin'  me  have  it  ?  ** 

"  Take  even  Roger  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  that  bay  '11  do.  Keep  thinkin'  that '«  what  I  'a 
after,  and  ask  me  no  more  questions  " 


THE  StORY  OF  KENNETt.  til 

She  crossed  the  ploughed  land,  crept  through  the  fence, 
and  trudged  up  the  road.  When  a  clump  of  bushes  on  the 
bank  had  hid  Gilbert  from  her  sight,  she  stopped,  took 
breath,  and  chuckled  with  luxurious  satisfaction. 

"  Betsy  Lavender,"  she  said,  with  marked  approval, 
"  you  're  a  cuter  oH  thing  than  I  took  you  to  be  I  * 


I&i  TH£  STORY  OF  KENNKft 


CHAPTER  XXDL 

MYSTERIOUS    MOVEMENTS. 

The  next  morning  Sam  took  Gilbert's  bay  horse  to  Ken- 
nett  Square,  and  hitched  him  in  front  of  Dr.  Deane's  door. 
Miss  Lavender,  who  was  on  the  look-out,  sunmioned  the 
boy  into  the  house,  to  bring  her  own  side-saddle  down  from 
the  garret,  and  then  proceeded  to  pack  a  small  valise,  with 
straps  corresponding  to  certain  buckles  behind  the  sad- 
dle. Martha  Deane  looked  on  with  some  surprise  at  this 
proceeding,  but  as  Miss  Lavender  continued  silent,  she 
asked  no  questions. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  the  spinster,  when  everything  was 
ready,  "  now  I  'm  good  for  a  week's  travel,  if  need  be ! 
You  want  to  know  where  I  'm  goin',  child,  I  see,  and  you 
might  as  well  out  with  the  words,  though  not  much  use, 
for  I  hardly  know  myself." 

"  Betsy,"  said  Martha,  "  you  seem  so  strange,  so  unlike 
yourself,  ever  since  you  came  home  last  evening.  What 
is  it?" 

"  I  remembered  something  on  the  way  up ;  my  head  's 
been  so  bothered  that  I  forgot  things,  never  mind  what, 
for  I  must  have  some  busine.ss  o'  my  own  or  I  would  n't 
seem  to  belong  to  mysell ;  and  so  I  've  got  to  trapes 
round  considerable,  —  money  matters  and  the  likes,  —  and 
folks  a'n't  always  ready  for  you  to  the  minute;  therefore 
count  on  more  time  than  what 's  needful,  say  L" 

"  And  you  can't  guess  when  you  will  be  back  ?  "  Mar- 
tha asked. 

"  Hardly  under  a  week.  I  want  to  finish  up  everythl(i| 
and  come  home  for  a  good  long  spell." 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  81A 

"With  these  words  she  descended  to  the  road,  valise  in 
hand,  buckled  it  to  the  saddle,  and  mounted  the  horse. 
Then  she  said  good-bye  to  Martha,  and  rode  briskly  away, 
down  the  Philadelphia  road. 

Several  days  passed  and  nothing  was  heard  of  her.  G3- 
bert  Potter  remained  on  his  farm,  busy  with  the  labor  of 
the  opening  spring ;  Mark  Deane  was  absent,  taking  meas 
urements  and  making  estimates  for  the  new  house,  and 
Sally  Fairthorn  spent  all  her  spare  time  in  spinning  flax 
for  a  store  of  sheets  and  table-cloths,  to  be  marked  "  S.  A. 
F."  in  red  silk,  when  duly  woven,  hemmed,  and  bleached. 

One  afternoon,  during  Miss  Lavender's  absence,  Dr. 
Deane  was  again  caned  upon  to  attend  Old-man  Barton. 
It  y(as  not  an  agreeable  duty,  for  the  Doctor  suspected  that 
something  more  than  medical  advice  was  in  question.  He 
had  not  visited  the  farm-house  since  his  discovery  of  Mar- 
tha's attachment  to  Gilbert  Potter,  —  had  even  avoided 
intercourse  with  Alfred  Barton,  towards  whom  his  manner 
became  cold  and  constrained.  It  was  a  sore  subject  in 
his  thoughts,  and  both  the  Bartons  seemed  to  be,  in  some 
jnanner,  accessory  to  his  disappointment 

The  old  man  complained  of  an  attack  of  "  buzzing  in  the 
head,"  which  molested  him  at  times,  and  for  which  bleed- 
ing was  the  Doctor's  usual  remedy.  His  face  had  a 
flushed,  congested,  purple  hue,  and  there  was  an  unnaturaf 
glare  in  his  eyes ;  but  the  blood  flowed  thickly  and  slug- 
gishly from  his  skinny  arm,  and  a  much  longer  time  than 
usual  elapsed  before  he  felt  relieved. 

"  Gad,  Doctor ! "  he  said,  when  the  vein  had  been  closed, 
"  the  spring  weather  brings  me  as  much  fulness  as  a  young 
buck  o'  twenty.  I  'd  be  frisky  yet,  if  't  was  n't  for  them 
legs.     Set  down,  there  ;  you  've  news  to  tell  me  !  " 

"I  think.  Friend  Barton,"  Dr.  Deane  answered,  "thee'd 
better  be  quiet  a  spell.  Talking  is  n't  exactly  good  for 
diee." 

« Eh  ?  •*  the  old  man  growled ;  "  maybe  you  'd  like  to 


844  THE   STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

think  so,  Doctor.  If  I  am  house-bound,  I  pick  up  some 
things  as  they  go  around.  And  I  know  why  you  let  our 
little  matter  drop  so  suddent." 

He  broke  off  with  a  short,  malicious  laugh,  which  excited 
the  Doctor's  ire.  The  latter  seated  himself,  smoothed  his 
garments  and  his  face,  became  odorous  of  bergamot  and 
wintergreen,  and  secretly  determined  to  repay  the  old  man 
for  this  thrust 

"  I  don't  know  what  thee  may  have  heard,  Friend  Bar- 
ton," he  remarked,  in  his  blandest  voice.  "  There  is  always 
plenty  of  gossip  in  this  neighborhood,  and  some  persons, 
no  doubt,  have  been  too  free  with  my  name,  —  mine  and 
my  daughter's,  I  may  say.  But  I  want  thee  to  know  that 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  relinquishment  of  my  visits 
to  thee.  If  thee 's  curious  to  learn  the  reason,  perhaps  thy 
son  Alfred  may  be  able  to  give  it  more  circumstantially 
than  I  can." 

"  What,  what,  what ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  The 
boy  told  you  not  to  come,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  mind  thee ;  but  he  made  it  un- 
necessary, —  quite  unnecessary.  In  the  first  place,  he  gave 
me  no  legal  evidence  of  any  property,  and  until  that  was 
done,  my  hands  were  tied.  Further,  he  seemed  very  loath 
to  address  Martha  at  all,  which  was  not  so  singular,  consid- 
ering that  he  never  took  any  steps,  from  the  first,  to  gain 
her  favor ;  and  then  he  deceived  me  into  imagining  that 
she  wanted  time,  after  she  had  positively  refused  his  ad- 
dresses. He  is  mistaken,  and  thee  too,  if  you  think  that  I 
am  very  anxious  to  have  a  man  of  no  spirit  and  little  prop- 
erty for  my  son-in-law !  " 

The  Doctor's  words  expressed  more  than  he  intended. 
They  not  only  stung,  but  betrayed  his  own  sting.  Old-man 
Barton  crooked  his  claws  around  his  hickory  staff,  and 
shook  with  senile  anger ;  while  his  small,  keen  eyes  glared 
on  his  antagonist's  face.  Yet  he  had  force  enough  to  wail 
until  the  first  heat  of  his  feeling  subsided. 


THE  STORY    OF  KENMTT.  S4iS 

"Doctor,"  he  then  said,  "mayhap  my  boy  's  better  than 
•  man  o*  no  name  and  no  property.  He  's  worth,  anyways, 
what  I  choose  to  make  him  worth.  Have  you  made  up  yt 
mind  to  take  the  t'other,  that  you  've  begun  to  run  him 
down,  eh  ?  " 

They  were  equally  matched,  this  tim<}.     The  color  came 
into  Dr.  Deane's  face,  and  then  faded,  leaving  him  slightly 
livid  about  the  mouth.     He  preserved  his  external  calm 
ness,  by  a  strong  effort,  but  there  was  a  barely  perceptible 
tremor  in  his  voice,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  It  is  not  pleasant  to  a  man  of  my  years  to  be  made  a 
tool  of,  as  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  thy  son  has  at- 
tempted. If  I  had  yielded  to  his  persuasions,  I  should 
have  spent  much  time  —  all  to  no  purpose,  I  doubt  not  — 
in  endeavoring  to  ascertain  what  thee  means  to  do  for  him 
in  thy  ^vill.  It  was,  indeed,  the  only  thing  he  seemed  to 
think  or  care  much  about  If  he  has  so  much  money  of 
his  own,  as  tlite  says,  it  is  certainly  not  creditable  that  he 
should  be  so  anxious  for  thy  decease." 

The  Doctor  had  been  watcliing  the  old  man  as  he  spoke, 
and  the  increasing  effect  of  his  words  was  so  perceptible 
that  he  succeeded  in  closing  with  an  agreeable  smile  and  a 
most  luxurious  pinch  of  snuff.  He  had  not  intended  to 
say  so  much,  at  the  commencement  of  the  conversation, 
but  he  had  been  sorely  provoked,  and  the  temptation  was 
irresistible. 

The  effect  was  greater  than  he  had  imagined.  Old  Bar- 
ton's face  was  so  convulsed,  that,  for  a  few  minutes,  the 
Doctor  feared  an  attack  of  complete  paralysis.  He  became 
Uie  physician  again,  undid  his  work  as  nmch  as  possible, 
and  called  Miss  Ann  into  the  room,  to  prevent  any  renewal 
of  the  discussion.  He  produced  his  stores  of  entertaining 
gossip,  and  prolonged  his  stay  until  all  threatening  symp- 
toms of  the  excitement  seemed  to  be  allayed.  The  old 
man  returned  to  his  ordinary  mood,  and  listened,  and  made 
his  gruff  comments,  but  with  temporary  fits  of  abstractionr 


846  THE  fc-TORY   Of  KENJSETT. 

After  the  Doctor's  departure,  he  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  foi 
the  remainder  of  the  evening. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  when  Alfred  Barton  returned 
in  the  evening  from  a  sale  in  the  neighborhood,  he  was 
aware  of  a  peculiar  change  in  his  father's  manner.  H.* 
first  impression  was  that  the  old  man,  contrary  to  D 
Deane's  orders,  had  resumed  his  rations  of  brandy,  and 
exceeded  the  usuai  allowance.  There  was  a  vivid  color  on 
his  flabby  cheeks ;  he  was  alert,  talkative,  and  frequently 
chuckled  to  himself,  shifting  the  hickory  staff  from  hand 
to  hand,  or  rubbing  his  gums  backward  and  forward  on  its 
rounded  end. 

He  suddenly  asked,  as  Alfred  was  smoking  his  pipe  be 
fore  the  fire,  — 

"  Know  what  I  've  been  thinkin'  of,  to-day,  boy  ?  " 

"  No,  daddy  ;  anything  about  the  crops  ?  " 

"  Ha !  ha !  a  pretty  good  crop  for  somebody  it  '11  be ! 
Nearly  time  for  me  to  make  my  will,  eh?  &!  'm  so  old  and 
weak  —  no  life  left  in  me  —  can't  last  many  days ! " 

He  laughed  with  a  hideous  irony,  as  he  pronounced  these 
words.  His  son  stared  at  him,  and  the  fire  died  out  in  the 
pipe  between  his  teeth.  Was  the  old  man  getting  childish  ? 
he  asked  himself.  But  no  ;  he  had  never  looked  more  dia- 
bolically cunning  and  watchful. 

"  Why,  daddy,"  Alfred  said  at  last,  "  I  thought  —  I  fan- 
cied, at  least,  you  'd  done  tliat,  long  ago." 

"  Maybe  I  have,  boy  ;  but  maybe  I  want  to  change  it.  I 
had  a  talk  with  the  Doctor  when  he  came  down  to  bleed 
me,  and  since  there  's  to  be  no  match  between  you  and  the 
girl"- 

He  paused,  keeping  his  eyes  on  his  son's  face-  which 
.engthened  and  grew  vacant  with  a  vague  alarm. 

"  Why,  then,"  he  presently  resumed,  "  you  're  so  much 
poorer  by  the  amount  o'  her  money.  Would  it  be  fair,  do 
you  think,  if  I  was  to  put  that  much  to  what  1  might  htf 
meant  for  you  before  ?  Don't  you  allow  you  ought  to  have 
a  little  more,  on  accoimt  o'  your  disapp'intmeut? 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT  847 

"If  you  think  so,  dad, it's  all  right,'  said  the  son,  relight- 
ing his  pipe.  "  I  don't  know,  though  what  Elisha  'd  say  to 
it ;  but  then,  he  's  no  right  to  complain,  for  he  married  full 
as  much  as  I  'd  ha'  got" 

"  That  he  did,  boy  ;  and  when  al)  "s  said  and  done,  the 
money  's  my  own  to  do  with  it  what  I  please.  There  's  no 
law  o'  the  oldest  takin*  all.  Yes,  yes,  I  '11  have  to  make  a 
new  will !  " 

A  serene  joy  diffused  itself  through  Alfred  Barton's 
breast.     He  became  frank,  affectionate,  and  confidential. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  dad,"  he  said,  "  I  was  mighty 
afraid  you  'd  play  the  deuce  with  me,  because  all 's  over 
between  me  and  Martha  Deane.  You  seemed  so  set 
on  it" 

"  So  I  was  —  so  I  was,"  croaked  the  old  man,  "  but  I  *ve 
got  over  it  since  I  saw  the  Doctor.  Afler  all  I  *ve  heerd, 
she  's  not  the  wife  for  you  ;  it 's  better  as  it  is.  You  'd 
rayther  have  the  money  without  her,  tell  the  truth  now, 
you  dog,  ha !  ha  I  " 

"  Damme,  dad,  you  've  guessed  it !  "  Alfred  cried,  joining 
in  the  laugh.  "  She  's  too  high-flown  for  me.  I  never 
fancied  a  woman  that  's  ready  to  take  you  down,  every 
other  word  you  say  ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  now,  that  I  had  n't 
much  stomach  for  the  match,  at  any  time  ;  but  you  wanted 
it,  you  know,  and  I  've  done  what  1  could,  to  please  you." 

"  You  're  a  good  boy,  Alfred,  —  a  mighty  good  boy." 

There  was  nothing  very  amusing  in  this  opinion,  but  the 
old  man  laughed  over  it,  by  fits  and  starts,  for  a  long  time. 

"  Take  a  drop  o'  brandy,  boy  !  "  he  said.  "  You  may  as 
well  have  my  share,  till  I  'm  ready  to  begin  ag'iu." 

This  was  the  very  climax  of  favor.  Alfred  arose  with  a 
broad  beam  of  triumph  on  his  face,  filled  the  glass,  and 
saying,  —  "  Here  's  long  life  to  you,  dad  ! "  turned  it  into 
Ills  mouth. 

"  Long  life  ?  "  the  old  man  muttered.  "  It  *s  pretty  long 
M  it  is,  —  eighty-six  and  over ;  but  it  may  be  ninety-six,  ot 


S48  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

a  hundred  and  six:  who  knows?  Anyhow,  boj,  loiig  « 
short,  I  '11  make  a  new  will !  " 

Giles  was  now  summoned,  to  wheel  him  into  the  adjoin- 
ing room  and  put  him  to  bed.  Alfred  Barton  took  a 
second  glass  of  brandy  (after  the  door  was  closed),  lighted 
a  fresh  pipe,  and  seated  himself  again  before  the  embers  to 
enjoy  the  surprise  and  exultation  of  his  fortune.  To  think 
that  he  had  worried. himself  so  long  for  that  which  finally 
came  of  itself!  Half  his  fear  of  the  old  man,  he  reflected, 
had  been  needless ;  in  many  things  he  had  acted  like  the 
veriest  fool !  Well,  it  was  a  consolation  to  know  that  all 
his  anxieties  were  over.  The  day  that  should  make  him  a 
rich  and  important  man  might  be  delayed  (his  father*!^ 
strength  and  vitality  were  marvellous),  but  it  was  cei-tain  to 
come. 

Another  day  or  two  passed  by,  and  the  old  man's  quick, 
garrulous,  cheerful  mood  continued,  although  he  made  no 
further  reference  to  the  subject  of  the  will.  Alfred  Barton 
deliberated  whether  he  should  suggest  sending  for  Lawyer 
Stacy,  but  finally  decided  not  to  hazard  his  prospects  by  a 
show  of  impatience.  He  was  therefore  not  a  little  sur- 
prised when  his  sister  Ann  suddenly  made  her  appearance 
in  the  barn,  where  he  and  Giles  were  mending  some  dilap- 
idated plough-harness,  and  announced  that  the  lawyer  was 
even  then  closeted  with  their  father.  Moreover,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  knowledge,  Ann  herself  had  been  banished 
from  the  house.  She  clambered  into  the  hay-mow,  sat 
down  in  a  comfortable  spot,  and  deliberately  plied  her 
knitting-needles. 

Ann  seemed  to  take  the  matter  as  coolly  as  if  it  were  an 
every-day  occurrence,  but  Alfred  could  not  easily  recover 
from  his  astonishment.  There  was  more  than  accident 
here,  he  surmised.  Mr.  Stacy  had  made  his  usual  visit, 
not  a  fortnight  before ;  his  father's  determination  had  evi« 
dently  been  the  result  of  his  conversation  with  Dr.  Deane, 
and  in   the  mean  time  no  messenger  had  been  sent  tc 


THE  STORT  OF  KENNETT.  341 

Chester,  neither  was  there  time  for  a  letter  to  i*each  tliere. 
Unless  Dr.  Deane  himself  were  concerned  in  secretlj 
bringing  about  the  visit,  —  a  most  unlikely  circumstance, 
—  Alfred  Barton  could  not  understand  how  it  happened. 

"  How  did  th'  old  man  seem,  when  you  left  the  house  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  'Pears  to  me  I  ha'n't  seen  him  so  chipper  these  twenty 
years,"  said  Ann. 

"  And  how  long  are  they  to  be  left  alone  ?  " 

"  No  tellin',"  she  answered,  rattling  her  needles.  "  Mr. 
Stacy  '11  come,  when  all  's  done  ;  and  not  a  soul  is  to  go 
any  nearder  the  house  till  he  gives  the  word." 

Two  hours,  three  hours,  four  hours  passed  away,  before 
the  summons  came.  Alfred  Barton  found  himself  so  curi- 
ously excited  that  he  was  fain  to  leave  the  harness  to  Giles, 
and  quiet  himself  with  a  pipe  or  two  in  the  meadow.  He 
would  have  gone  up  to  the  Unicom  for  a  little  stronger 
refreshment,  but  did  not  dare  to  venture  out  of  sight  of  the 
house.  Miss  Ann  was  the  perfect  image  of  Patience  in  a 
hay-mow,  smiling  at  his  anxiety.  The  motion  of  her  nee- 
dles never  ceased,  except  when  she  counted  the  stitches  in 
narrowing. 

Towards  sunset,  Mr.  Stacy  made  his  appearance  at  the 
barn-door,  but  his  face  was  a  sealed  book. 

On  the  morning  of  that  very  day,  another  mysterious 
incident  occurred.  Jake  Fairthorn  had  been  sent  to  Car- 
son's on  the  old  gray  mare,  on  some  farm-errand,  —  per- 
haps to  borrow  a  pick-axe  or  a  post-spade.  He  had 
returned  as  far  as  the  Philadelphia  road,  and  was  entering 
the  thick  wood  on  the  level  before  descending  to  Redley 
Creek,  when  he  perceived  Betsy  Lavender  leading  Gilbert 
Potter's  bay  horse  through  a  gap  in  the  fence,  aft«r  which 
nhe  commenced  putting  up  the  rails  behind  her. 

"  Why,  3Iiss  Betsy  !  what  are  you  doin'  ?  "  cried  Jake^ 
•purring  up  to  the  spot 

**  Boys  should  speak  when  they  're  spoken  to,  and  not 


850  THE  StOKY  OF  KENNETT. 

come  where  they  're  not  wanted,"  she  answered,  in  a  savage 
tone.     "  Maybe  I  'm  goin'  to  hunt  bears." 

"  Oh,  please,  let  me  go  along ! "  eagerly  cried  Jake,  who 
believed  in  bears. 

"  Go  along !  Yes,  and  be  eat  up."  Miss  Lavendei 
looked  very  much  annoyed.  Presently,  however,  her  face 
became  amiable ;  she  took  a  buckskin  purse  out  of  her 
pocket,  selected  a  small  silver  coin,  and  leaning  over  the 
fence,  held  it  out  to  Jake. 

"  Here !  "  she  said,  "  here  's  a  'levenpenny-bit  for  you,  if 
you  '11  be  a  good  boy,  and  do  exackly  as  I  bid  you.  Can 
you  keep  from  gabblin',  for  two  days  ?  Can  you  hold  your 
tongue  and  not  tell  anybody  till  day  after  to-morrow  that 
you  seen  me  here,  goin'  into  the  woods  ?  " 

"  Why,  that 's  easy  as  nothin' !  "  cried  Jake,  pocketing 
the  coin.  Miss  Lavender,  leading  the  horse,  disappeared 
among  the  trees. 

But  it  was  not  quite  so  easy  as  Jake  supposed.  He  had 
not  been  at  home  ten  minutes,  before  the  precious  piece 
of  silver,  transferred  back  and  forth  between  his  pocket 
and  his  hand  in  the  restless  ecstasy  of  possession,  was  per- 
ceived by  Joe.  Then,  as  Jake  stoutly  refused  to  tell  where 
it  came  from,  Joe  rushed  into  the  kitchen,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Mammy,  Jake  's  stole  a  levy  ! " 

This  brought  out  Mother  Fairthorn  and  Sally,  and  the 
unfortunate  Jake,  pressed  and  threatened  on  all  sides, 
began  to  cry  lamentably. 

"  She  '11  take  it  from  me  ag'in,  if  I  tell,"  he  whimpered. 

"  She  ?  Who  ?  "  cried  both  at  once,  their  curiosity  now 
fully  excited ;  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  Jake  told  the 
whole  story,  and  was  made  wretched. 

«  Well !  "  Sally  exclaimed,  "  this  beats  all !  Gilbert  Pot- 
ter's  bay  horse,  too  !  What  ever  could  she  be  after  ?  1 11 
have  no  peace  till  I  tell  Martha,  and  so  I  may  as  well  gc 
up  at  once,  for  there  's  something  in  the  wind,  and  if  sh* 
don't  know  already,  she  ought  to ! " 


THE  STORT   OF   KF.NNETT.  $51 

TLereupon  Sally  put  on  her  bonnet,  leaving  her  pewten 
half  scoured,  and  ran  rather  than  walked  to  the  village. 
Martha  Deane  could  give  no  explanation  of  the  circum- 
stance, but  endeavored,  for  Miss  Lavender's  sake,  to  con- 
ceal her  extreme  surprise. 

"  We  shall  know  what  it  means,"  she  said,  "  when  Betsy 
comes  home,  and  if  it  's  anything  that  .oncems  me,  I 
promise,  Sally,  to  tell  you.  It  may,  however,  relate  to 
some  business  of  her  own,  and  so,  I  think,  we  had  bettet 
quietly  wait  and  say  nothing  about  it" 

Nevertheless,  after  Sally's  departure,  Martha  meditated 
long  and  uneasily  upon  what  she  had  heard.  The  fact 
that  Miss  Lavender  had  come  back  from  the  Potter  farm- 
house in  so  unusual  a  frame  of  mind,  borrowed  Gilbert's 
horse,  and  set  forth  on  some  mysterious  errand,  had  al- 
ready disquieted  her.  More  than  the  predicted  week  of 
absence  had  passed,  and  now  Miss  Lavender,  instead  of 
returning  home,  appeared  to  be  hiding  in  the  woods,  anx- 
ious that  her  presence  in  the  neighborhood  should  not  be 
made  known.  Moreover  she  had  been  seen  by  the  land- 
lord of  the  Unicorn,  three  days  before,  near  Logtown, 
riding  towards  Kennett  Square. 

These  mysterious  movements  filled  Martha  Deane  with 
a  sense  of  anxious  foreboding.  She  felt  sure  that  they  were 
connected,  in  some  way,  with  Gilbert's  interests,  and  Miss 
Lavender's  reticence  now  seemed  to  indicate  a  coming 
misfortune  which  she  was  endeavoring  to  avert.  If  these 
fears  were  correct,  Gilbert  needed  her  help  also.  He 
could  not  come  to  her;  was  she  not  called  upon  to  go 
*o  him  ? 

Her  resolution  was  soon  taken,  and  she  only  waited 
until  her  father  had  left  on  a  visit  to  two  or  three  patients 
along  the  Street  Road.  His  questions,  she  knew,  would 
bring  on  another  painful  conflict  of  will,  and  she  would 
save  her  strength  for  Gilbert's  necessities.  To  avoid  the 
inferences  of  the  tavern  loungers,  she  chose  the  longei 


Sfff  THE   STOR\    OF   KENNETT. 

way,  eastward  out  of  the  village  to  the  cross-road  running 
past  the  Carson  place. 

All  the  sweet,  faint  tokens  of  Spring  cheered  her  eyes 
and  calmed  the  unrest  of  her  heart,  as  she  rode.  Among 
the  dead  leaves  of  the  woods,  the  snowy  blossoms  of  the 
blood-root  had  already  burst  forth  in  starry  clusters ;  the 
anemones  trembled  between  the  sheltering  knees  of  the 
old  oaks,  and  here  and  there  a  single  buttercup  dropped 
its  gold  on  the  meadows.  These  things  were  so  many  pre- 
sentiments of  brighter  days  in  Nature,  and  they  awoke  a 
corresponding  faith  in  her  own  heart 

As  she  approached  the  Potter  farm  she  slackened  her 
horse's  pace,  and  deliberated  whether  she  should  ride 
directly  to  the  house  or  seek  for  Gilbert  in  the  fields.  She 
had  not  seen  Mary  Potter  si#;e  that  eventful  Sunday,  the 
previous  summer,  and  felt  that  Gilbert  ought  to  be  con- 
sulted before  a  visit  which  might  possibly  give  pain.  Her 
doubts  were  suddenly  terminated  by  his  appearance,  with 
Sam  and  an  ox-cart,  in  the  road  before  her. 

Gilbert  could  with  difficulty  wait  until  the  slow  oxen 
had  removed  Sam  out  of  hearing. 

"  Martha  !  were  you  coming  to  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"As  I  promised,  Gilbert,"  she  said.     "  But  do  not  look, 
so  anxious.     If  there  really  is  any  trouble,  I  must  learn  it 
of  you." 

She  then  related  to  him  what  she  had  noticed  in  Miss 
Lavender's  manner,  and  learned  of  her  movements.  He 
stood  before  her,  listening,  with  his  hand  on  the  mane  of 
her  horse,  and  his  eyes  intently  fixed  on  her  face.  She 
saw  the  agitation  her  words  produced,  and  her  own  vague 
fears  returned. 

"  Can  you  guess  her  business,  Gilbert  ?  "  she  asked. 

**  Martha,"  he  answered,  "  I  only  know  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  her  mind,  and  I  beiieve  it  concerns  me.  I  ara 
afraid  to  guess  anything  more,  because  I  have  only  my  own 
wild  fancies  to  go  upon,  and  it  won't  do  to  give  'em  play  1 " 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  858 

**  What  are  those  fancies,  Gilbert?     May  I  not  know  ?" 

**  Can  you  trust  me  a  little,  Martha  ? "  he  implored 
"  Whatever  I  know,  you  shall  know ;  but  if  I  sometimes 
seek  useless  trouble  for  myself,  why  should  I  seek  it  for 
you  ?  I  '11  tell  you  now  one  fear  I  've  kept  from  you,  and 
you  '11  see  what  I  mean." 

He  related  to  her  his  dread  that  Sandy  Flash  might 
prove  to  be  his  father,  and  the  solution  of  it  in  the  high- 
wayman's cell.     "  Have  I  not  done  right  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  Gilbert,"  she  replied,  with  a  brave  smile ; 
"  you  might  have  tested  my  truth,  once  more,  if  you  had 
spoken  your  fears." 

"  I  need  no  test,  Martha ;  and  you  won't  press  riie  for  an- 
other, now.  I  '11  only  say,  and  you  '11  be  satisfied  with  it, 
that  Betsy  seemed  to  guess  what  was  in  my  mind,  and  prom- 
ised, or  rather  expected,  to  come  back  with  good  news." 

"  Then,"  said  Martha,  "  I  must  wait  until  she  makes  her 
appearance." 

She  had  hardly  spoken  the  words,  before  a  figure  be- 
came visible  between  the  shock-headed  willows,  where  the 
road  crosses  the  stream.  A  bay  horse  —  and  then  Betsy 
Lavender  herself! 

Martha  turned  her  horse's  head,  and  Gilbert  hastened 
forward  with  her,  both  silent  and  keenly  excited. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Betsy,  "  what  are  you  two  a- 
doin'  here  ?  " 

There  was  news  in  her  face,  both  saw  ;  yet  they  also 
remarked  that  the  meeting  did  not  seem  to  be  entirely 
welcome  to  her. 

"  I  came,"  said  Martha,  "  to  see  whether  Gilbert  could 
tell  me  why  you  were  hiding  in  the  woods,  instead  of  com- 
ing home." 

"It  's  that  —  that  good-for-nothin'  serpent,  Jake  Fair- 
thorn  !  "  cried  Miss  Lavender.  "  I  see  it  all  now.  Much 
Gilbert  could  tell  you,  howsever,  or  you  him,  o'  my  busi- 
ness, and  have  n't  I  a  right  to  it,  as  well  as  other  folks ;  but 


854  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

never  mind,  fine  as  i ;  's  spun  it  HI  come  to  the  sun,  as  they 
say  o'  flax  and  sinful  doin's ;  not  that  such  is  mine,  but  you 
may  think  so  if  you  like,  and  you  '11  know  in  a  day  or  two 
anyhow ! " 

Martha  saw  that  Miss  Lavender's  lean  hands  were  tremb- 
ling, and  guessed  that  her  news  must  be  of  vital  impor- 
tance. "  Betsy,"  she  said,  "  I  see  you  don't  mean  to  tell  us  j 
but  one  word  you  can't  refuse  —  is  it  good  or  bad  ?  ** 

"  Good  or  bad  ?  "  Miss  Lavender  repeated,  growing 
more  and  more  nervous,  as  she  looked  at  the  two  anxious 
faces.  "  Well,  it  is  n't  bad,  so  peart  yourselves  up,  and 
ask  me  po  more  questions,  this  day,  nor  yet  to-morrow, 
maybe ;  because  if  you  do,  I  '11  just  screech  with  all  my 
might ;  I  '11  holler,  Gilbert,  wuss  'n  you  heerd,  and  much 
good  that  '11  do  you,  givin'  me  a  crazy  name  all  over  the 
country.  I  'm  in  dead  earnest ;  if  you  try  to  worm  anything 
more  out  o'  me,  I  '11  screech  ;  and  so  I  was  goin'  to  bring 
your  horse  home,  Gilbert,  and  have  a  talk  with  your  mother, 
but  you  've  made  me  mortal  weak  betwixt  and  between 
you;  and  I'll  ride  back  with  Martha,  by  your  leave,  and 
you  may  send  Sam  right  away  for  the  horse.  No ;  let  Sam 
come  now,  and  walk  alongside,  to  save  me  from  Martha's 
cur'osity." 

Miss  Lavender  would  not  rest  until  this  arrangement 
was  made.  The  two  ladies  then  rode  away  through  the 
pale,  hazy  sunset,  leaving  Gilbert  Potter  in  a  fever  of  im- 
patience, dread,  and  hspe. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  8M 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    FUNERAL. 

The  next  morning,  at  daybreak,  Dr.  Deane  was  sum- 
moned in  haste  to  the  Barton  farm-house.  Miss  Betsy 
Lavender,  whose  secrets,  whatever  they  were,  had  inter- 
fered with  her  sleep,  heard  Giles's  first  knock,  and  thrust 
her  night-cap  out  the  window  before  he  could  repeat  it. 
The  old  man,  so  Giles  announced,  had  a  bad  spell,  —  a 
'plectic  fit,  Lawyer  Stacy  called  it,  and  they  did  n't  know 
as  he  'd  live  from  one  hour  to  another. 

Miss  Lavender  aroused  the  Doctor,  then  dressed  herself 
in  haste,  and  prepared  to  accompany  him.  Martha,  awak- 
ened by  the  noise,  came  into  the  spinster's  room  in  her 
night-dress. 

"  Must  you  go,  Betsy  ?  "  she  asked. 

**  Child,  it 's  a  matter  o'  life  and  death,  more  likely  death ; 
and  Ann  's  a  dooless  critter  at  best,  hardly  ever  off  the 
place,  and  need  o'  Chris'en  help,  if  there  ever  was  such ; 
so  don't  ask  me  to  stay,  for  I  won't,  and  all  the  better  for 
me,  for  I  dares  n't  open  my  lips  to  livin'  soul  till  I  Ve 
spoke  with  Mary  Potter  !  " 

Miss  Lavender  took  the  foot-path  across  the  fields,  ac- 
companied by  Giles,  who  gave  up  his  saddled  horse  to  Dr. 
Deane.  The  dawn  was  brightening  in  the  sky  as  they 
reached  the  farm-house,  where  they  found  Alfred  Barton 
restlessly  walking  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  kitchen, 
while  Ann  and  Mr.  Stacy  were  endeavoring  to  apply  such 
scanty  restoratives  —  consisting  principally  of  lavendn 
and  hot  bricks  —  as  the  place  afforded. 


9M  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

An  examination  of  the  eyes  and  the  pulse,  and  a  last 
abortive  attempt  at  phlebotomy,  convinced  Dr.  Deane  that 
his  services  were  no  longer  needed.  Death,  which  so 
many  years  before  had  lamed  half  the  body,  now  asserted 
his  claim  to  the  whole.  A  wonderfully  persistent  principle 
of  vitality  struggled  against  the  clogged  functions,  for  two 
or  three  hours,  then  yielded,  and  the  small  fragment  of 
soul  in  the  old  man  was  cast  adrift,  with  little  chance  of 
finding  a  comfortable  lodging  in  any  other  world. 

Ann  wandered  about  the  kitchen  in  a  dazed  state,  drop- 
ping tears  everywhere,  and  now  and  then  moaning, — **0 
Betsy,  how  'II  I  ever  get  up  the  funeral  dinner  ?  "  while 
Alfred,  after  emptying  the  square  bottle  of  brandy,  threw 
himself  upon  the  settle  and  went  to  sleep.  Mr,  Stacy  and 
Miss  Lavender,  who  seemed  to  know  each  other  thoroughly 
at  the  first  sight,  took  charge  of  all  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments ;  and  as  Alfred  had  said,  —  "7  can't  look  after  any- 
thing ;  do  as  you  two  like,  and  don't  spare  expense ! " 
they  ordered  the  coffin,  dispatched  messengers  to  the  rela- 
tives and  neighbors,  and  soothed  Ann's  unquiet  soul  by  se- 
lecting the  material  for  the  dinner,  and  engaging  the  Uni- 
corn's cook. 

When  all  was  done,  late  in  the  day.  Miss  Lavender 
called  Giles  and  said,  —  "  Saddle  me  a  horse,  and  if  no 
side-saddle,  a  man's  '11  do,  for  go  I  must ;  it 's  business  o' 
my  own,  Mr.  Stacy,  and  won't  wait  for  me  ;  not  that  I  want 
to  do  more  this  day  than  what  I've  done,  Goodness  knows; 
but  I  '11  have  a  fit,  myself,  if  I  don't !  " 

She  reached  the  Potter  farm-house  at  dark,  and  both 
mother  and  son  were  struck  with  her  flushed,  excited,  and 
yet  weary  air.  Their  supper  was  over,  but  she  refused  to 
take  anything  more  than  a  cup  of  tea ;  her  speech  was 
forced,  and  more  rambling  and  disconnected  than  ever 
When  Mary  Potter  left  the  kitchen  to  bring  some  fresh 
cream  from  the  spring-house.  Miss  Lavender  hastily  ap- 
proached Gilbert,  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
said, — 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNE'lT.  9Bfi 

**  Lad,  oe  good  this  once't,  and  do  what  I  tell  yoiL  Make 
n  reasou  for  goin'  to  bed  as  soon  as  you  can  ;  for  I  've  been 
workin'  in  your  interest  all  this  while,  only  I  've  got  that  to 
tell  your  mother,  first  of  all,  which  you  must  n't  hear ;  and 
you  may  hope  as  much  as  you  please,  for  the  news  is  n't 
bad,  as  '11  soon  be  made  manifest !  " 

Gilbert  was  strangely  impressed  by  her  solemn,  earnest 
manner,  and  promised  to  obey.  He  guessed,  and  yet 
feared  to  believe,  that  the  long  release  of  which  his  mother 
had  spoken  had  come  at  last ;  how  else,  he  asked  himself, 
should  Miss  Lavender  become  possessed  of  knowledge 
which  seemed  so  important  ?  As  early  as  possible  he  went 
up  to  his  bedroom,  leaving  the  two  women  alone.  The 
sound  of  voices,  now  high  and  hurried,  now,  apparently, 
low  and  broken,  came  to  his  ears.  He  resisted  the  tempta- 
tion to  listen,  smothered  his  head  in  the  pillow  to  further 
nmffle  the  sounds,  and  after  a  long,  restless  struggle  with 
his  own  mind,  fell  asleep.  Deep  in  the  night  he  was 
awakened  by  the  noise  of  a  shutting  door,  and  then  all  was 
still. 

It  was  very  evident,  in  the  morning,  that  he  had  not  mis- 
calculated the  importance  of  Miss  Lavender's  communica- 
tion. Was  this  woman,  whose  face  shone  with  such  a  min- 
gled light  of  awe  and  triumph,  his  mother  ?  Were  these 
features,  where  the  deep  lines  of  patience  were  softened 
into  curves  of  rejoicing,  the  dark,  smouldering  gleam  of 
sorrow  kindled  into  a  flashing  light  of  pride,  those  he  had 
known  from  childhood  ?  As  he  looked  at  her,  in  wonder 
renewed  with  every  one  of  her  movements  and  glances, 
she  took  him  by  the  hand  and  said,  — 

"  Gilbert,  wait  a  little  ! " 

Miss  Lavender  insisted  on  having  breakfast  by  simrise, 
and  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  demanded  her  horse. 
Then  first  she  announced  the  fact  of  Old-man  Barton's 
death,  and  that  the  funeral  was  to  be  on  the  following  day. 

*  Mary,  you  must  be  sure  and  come,"  she  said,  as  she 


858  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

took  leave  ;  "  T  know  Ann  expects  it  of  you.  Ten  o*clocki 
remember ! " 

Gilbert  noticed  that  his  mother  laid  aside  her  sewing, 
and  when  the  ordinary  household  labor  had  been  per- 
formed, seated  herself  near  the  window  with  a  small  old 
$ible,  which  he  had  never  before  seen  in  her  hands. 
There  was  a  strange  fixedness  in  her  gaze,  as  if  only  her 
eyes,  not  her  thoughts,  were  directed  upon  its  pages.  The 
new  expression  of  her  face  remained  ;  it  seemed  already  to 
have  acquired  as  permanent  a  stamp  as  the  old.  Against 
his  will  he  was  infected  by  its  power,  and  moved  about  in 
barn  and  field  all  day  with  a  sense  of  the  unreality  of 
things,  which  was  very  painful  to  his  strong,  practical 
nature. 

The  day  of  the  old  man's  funeral  came.  Sam  led  up 
the  horses,  and  waited  at  the  gate  with  them  to  receive  his 
master's  parting  instructions.  Gilbert  remarked  with  sur- 
prise that  his  mother  placed  a  folded  paper  between  the 
leaves  of  the  Bible,  tied  the  book  carefully  in  a  linen  hand- 
kerchief, and  carried  it  with  her.  She  was  ready,  but  still 
hesitated,  looking  around  the  kitchen  with  the  manner  of 
one  who  had  forgotten  something.  Then  she  returned  to 
her  own  room,  and  after  some  minutes,  came  forth,  paler 
than  before,  but  proud,  composed,  and  firm. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  I  have  tried 
you  sorely,  and  you  have  been  wonderfully  kind  and  pa- 
tient. I  have  no  right  to  ask  anything  more  ;  I  could  tell 
you  everything  now,  but  this  is  not  the  place  nor  the  time  I 
had  thought  of,  for  so  many  years  past.  Will  you  let  me 
finish  the  work  in  the  way  pointed  out  to  me  ?  " 

"  Mother,"  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  judge  in  this  matter, 
knowing  nothing.  I  must  be  led  by  you ;  but,  pray,  do  not 
let  it  be  long  ?  " 

"  It  will  not  be  long,  my  boy,  or  I  would  n't  ask  it.  I 
have  one  more  duty  to  perform,  to  myself,  to  you,  and  to 
tfie  Jx)rd.  and  it  must  be  done  in  the  sig^ht  of  men.     WUI 


THE  STORY  OF   KKNNETT.  359 

you  stand  by  me,  not  question  my  words,  not  interfere  wiA 
my  actions,  however  strange  they  may  seem,  but  simply  be- 
lieve and  obey  ?  " 

"  I  will,  mother,"  he  said,  "  because  you  make  me  feel 
that  I  must" 

They  mounted,  and  side  by  side  rode  up  the  glen. 
Mary  Potter  was  silent ;  now  and  then  her  lips  moved,  not, 
as  once,  in  some  desperate  appeal  of  the  heart  for  pity  and 
help,  but  as  with  a  thanksgiving  so  profound  that  it  must 
needs  be  constantly  renewed,  to  be  credited. 

Ailer  passing  Carson's,  they  took  tlie  shorter  way  across 
the  fields,  and  approached  the  Barton  farm-house  from 
below.  A  large  concourse  of  people  was  already  assem- 
bled ;  and  the  rude  black  hearse,  awaiting  its  burden  in 
the  lane,  spread  the  awe  and  the  gloom  of  death  over  the 
scene.  The  visitors  were  grouped  around  the  doors,  silent 
or  speaking  cautiously  in  subdued  tones ;  and  all  new-com- 
ers passed  into  the  house  to  tiike  their  last  look  at  the  face 
of  the  dead. 

The  best  room,  in  which  the  corpse  lay,  was  scarcely 
used  once  in  a  year,  and  many  of  the  neighbors  had  never 
before  had  occasion  to  enter  it.  The  shabby,  antiquated 
furniture  looked  cold  and  dreary  from  disuse,  and  the  smell 
of  camphor  in  the  air  hardly  kept  down  the  musty,  mouldy 
odors  which  exhaled  from  the  walls.  The  head  and  foot 
of  the  coffin  rested  on  two  chairs  placed  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  ;  and  several  women,  one  of  whom  was  Miss 
Betsy  Lavender,  conducted  the  visitors  back  and  forth,  as 
they  came.  The  members  of  the  bereaved  family  were 
stiffly  ranged  around  the  walls,  the  chief  mourners  consist- 
ing of  the  old  man's  eldest  son,  Elisha,  with  his  wife  and 
three  married  aons,  Alfred,  and  Ann. 

Mary  Potter  took  her  son's  arm,  and  they  passed 
through  the  throng  at  the  door,  and  entered  the  house. 
Grilbert  silently  returned  the  nods  of  greeting ;  his  mother 
neithet  met  nor  avoided  the  eyes  of  others.     Her  step  wai 


860  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

firm,  her  head  erect,  her  bearing  full  of  pride  and  decision 
Miss  Lav  ender,  who  met  her  with  a  questioning  glance  at 
the  door,  walked  beside  her  to  the  room  of  death,  and  then 
—  what  was  remarkable  in  her  —  became  very  pale. 

They  stood  by  the  coffin.  It  was  not  a  peaceful,  solemn 
sight,  that  yellow  face,  with  its  wrinkles  and  creases  and 
dark  blotches  of  congealed  blood,  made  more  pronounced 
and  ugly  by  the  white  shroud  and  cravat  yet  a  tear  rolled 
down  Mary  Potter's  cheek  as  she  gazed  upon  it.  Other 
visitors  came,  and  Gilbert  gently  drew  her  away,  to  leave 
the  room  ;  but  with  a  quick  pressure  upon  his  arm,  as  if  to 
remind  him  of  his  promise,  she  quietly  took  her  seat  near 
the  mourners,  and  by  a  slight  motion  indicated  that  he 
should  seat  himself  at  her  side. 

It  was  an  unexpected  and  painful  position  ;  but  her  face, 
firm  and  calm,  shamed  his  own  embarrassment  He  saw, 
nevertheless,  that  the  grief  of  the  mourners  was  not  so  pro- 
found as  to  suppress  the  surprise,  if  not  indignation,  which 
the  act  called  forth.  The  women  had  their  handkerchiefs 
to  their  eyes,  and  were  weeping  in  a  slow,  silent,  mechanical 
way ;  the  men  had  handkerchiefs  in  their  hands,  but  their 
faces  were  hard,  apathetic,  and  constrained. 

By-and-by  the  visitors  ceased ;  the  attending  women 
exchanged  glances  with  each  other  and  with  the  mourners, 
and  one  of  the  former  stepped  up  to  Mary  Potter  and  said 
gently,  — 

"  It  is  only  the  family,  now." 

This  was  according  to  custom,  which  required  that  just 
before  the  coffin  was  closed,  the  members  of  the  family  of 
the  deceased  should  be  left  alone  with  him  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  take  their  farewell  of  his  face,  undisturbed  by 
other  eyes.  Gilbert  would  have  risen,  but  his  motiier,  with 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  quietly  replied,  — 

"  We  belong  to  the  family." 

The  woman  withdrew,  though  with  apparent  doubt  and 
hesitation,  and  they  were  left  alone  with  the  mourners. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENXETT.  861 

Gilbert  could  scarcely  trust  his  senses.  A  swift  suspi< 
don  of  his  mother's  insanity  crossed  his  mind  ;  but  when 
he  looked  around  the  room  and  beheld  Alfred  Barton  gaz- 
ing upon  her  with  a  face  more  livid  than  that  of  the  dead 
man,  this  suspicion  was  followed  by  another,  no  less  over- 
irhelming.  For  a  few  minutes  everjlhing  seemed  to  whirl 
and  spin  before  hb  eyes ;  a  light  broke  upon  him,  but  so 
unexpected,  so  incredible,  that  it  came  with  the  force  of  « 
blow. 

The  undertaker  entered  the  room  and  screwed  down  the 
lid  of  the  coffin  ;  the  pall-bearers  followed  and  carried  h 
to  the  hearse.  Then  the  mourners  rose  and  prepared  to 
set  forth,  in  the  order  of  their  relation  to  the  deceased. 
Elisha  Barton  led  the  way,  with  his  wife ;  then  Ann,  clad 
in  her  Sunday  black,  stepped  forward  to  take  Alfred's 
arm. 

"  Ann,"  said  Mary  Potter,  in  a  low  voice,  which  yet  was 
heard  by  every  person  in  the  room,  "  that  is  my  place." 

She  left  Gilbert  and  moved  to  Alfred  Barton's  side. 
Then,  slightly  turning,  she  said,  —  "  Gilbert,  give  your  arm 
to  your  aunt." 

For  a  full  minute  no  other  word  was  said.  Alfred  Bar- 
ton stood  motionless,  with  Mary  Potter's  hand  on  his  arm. 
A  fiery  flush  succeeded  to  his  pallor  ;  his  jaw  fell,  and  his 
^es  were  fixed  upon  the  floor.  Ann  took  Gilbert's  arm  in 
a  helpless,  bewildered  way. 

"  Alfred,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  Elisha  finally  asked. 

He  said  nothing;  Mary  Potter  answered  for  him,  —  "It 
is  right  that  he  should  walk  with  his  wife  rather  than  h« 
sister." 

The  horses  and  chairs  were  waiting  in  the  lane,  and 
helping  neighbors  were  at  the  door ;  but  the  solemn  occa- 
sion was  forgotten,  in  the  shock  produced  by  this  annoimce- 
ment.  Gilbert  started  and  almost  reeled;  Ann  clung- to 
him  with  helpless  terror  ;  and  only  Elisha,  whose  face  grew 
imrk  and  threatening,  an&wered. 


862  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT, 

"  "Woman,"  he  said,  "  you  are  out  of  your  senses  I  LettVt 
us  ;  you  have  no  business  liere  !  " 

She  met  him  with  a  proud,  a  serene  and  steady  counte- 
nance. "  Elisha,"  she  answered,  "  we  are  here  to  bury  your 
father  and  my  father-in-law.  Let  be  until  the  grave  haa 
closed  over  him  ;  then  ask  Alfred  whether  I  could  dare 
ta  take  my  rightful  place  before  to-day." 

The  solemn  decision  of  her  face  and  voice  struck  hinj 
dumb.  His  wife  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  and  he 
turned  away  with  her,  to  take  his  place  in  the  funeral  pro- 
cession. 

It  was  Alfred  Barton's  duty  to  follow,  and  if  it  was  not 
grief  which  impelled  him  td  bury  his  face  in  his  handker- 
chief as  they  issued  from  the  door,  it  was  a  torture  keener 
than  was  ever  mingled  with  grief,  —  the  torture  of  a  mean 
nature,  pilloried  in  its  meanest  aspect  for  the  public  gaze. 
Mary,  (we  must  not  call  her  Potter,  and  cannot  yet  call 
her  Barton,)  rather  led  him  than  was  led  by  him,  and  lifted 
her  face  to  the  eyes  of  men.  The  shame  which  she  might 
have  felt,  as  his  wife,  was  lost  in  the  one  overpowering 
sense  of  the  justification  for  which  she  had  so  long  waited 
and  suffered. 

When  the  pair  appeared  in  the  yard,  and  Gilbert  followed 
with  Miss  Ann  Barton  on  his  arm,  most  of  the  funeral 
guests  looked  on  in  stupid  wonder,  imable  to  conceive  the 
reason  of  the  two  thus  appearing  among  the  mourners. 
But  when  they  had  mounted  and  were  moving  off,  a  rumor 
of  the  startling  truth  ran  from  lip  to  lip.  The  proper  order 
of  the  procession  was  forgotten  ;  some  untied  their  horses 
in  haste  and  pushed  forward  to  convince  themselves  of  the 
astonishing  flict ;  others  gathered  into  groups  and  discussed 
it  earnestly.  Some  had  suspected  a  relation  of  the  kind,  all 
along,  so  they  said ;  others  scouted  at  the  story,  and  were 
ready  with  explanations  of  their  own.  But  not  a  soul  had 
Another  thought  to  spare  for  Old-man  Barton  that  day. 

Et.  Deane  and  Martha  heard  what  had  happened  at 


TOE   STORY   OF   KENNETT.  868 

fliey  were  mounting  their  horses.  When  they  took  their 
places  in  the  line,  the  singular  companionship,  behind  the 
hearse,  was  plainly  visible.  Neither  spoke  a  word,  but 
Martha  felt  that  her  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  that  her 
thoughts  were  unsteady. 

Presently  Miss  Lavender  rode  up  and  took  her  place  at 
her  side.  Tears  wert-  streaming  from  her  eyes,  and  she 
was  using  her  handkerchief  freely.  It  was  sometime  be 
fore  she  could  command  her  feelings  enough  to  say,  in  a 
husky  whisper, — 

"I  never  thought  to  ha'  had  a  hand  in  such  wonderful 
doin's,  and  how  I  held  up  through  it,  I  can't  tell.  Glory 
to  the  Lord,  the  end  has  come ;  but,  no  —  not  yet  — 
not  quite  ;  only  enough  for  one  day,  Martha ;  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Betsy,"  said  Martha,  "  please  ride  a  little  closer,  and 
explain  to  me  how  it  came  about.  Give  me  one  or  two 
points  for  my  mind  to  rest  on,  for  I  don't  seem  to  believe 
even  what  I  see." 

"  What  I  see.  No  wonder,  who  could  ?  Well,  it  *8 
enough  that  Mary  was  married  to  Alf.  Barton  a  matter 
o'  twenty-six  year  ago,  and  that  he  swore  her  to  keep  it 
secret  till  th'  old  man  died,  and  he  's  been  her  husband 
all  this  while,  and  knowed  it !  " 

"  Father ! "  Martha  exclaimed  in  a  low,  solemn  voice, 
turning  to  Dr.  Deane,  '*  think,  now,  what  it  was  thee  would 
have  had  me  do  !  " 

The  Doctor  was  already  aware  of  his  terrible  mistake. 
"Thee  was  led,  child,"  he  answered,  "thee  was  led!  It 
was  a  merciful  Providence." 

"  Then  might  thee  not  also  admit  that  I  have  been  led 
in  that  other  respect,  which  has  been  so  great  a  trial  to 
thee  ?  " 

He  made  no  reply. 

The  road  to  Old  Kennett  never  seemed  so  long  ;  never 
was  a  corpse  so  impatiently  followed.  A  sense  of  decency 
restrained  those  who  were  not  relatives  from  pushing  ii 


864  THE  STORY  OF  KENNEFT. 

advance  of  those  who  were ;  yet  it  was  very  tantalizing  to 
look  upon  the  backs  of  Alfred  Barton  and  Mary,  Gilbert 
and  Ann,  when  their  faces  must  be  such  a  sight  to  see  ! 

These  four,  however,  rode  in  silence.  Each,  it  may  be 
guessed,  was  sufficiently  occupied  with  his  or  her  own  sen- 
sations, —  except,  perhaps,  Ann  Barton,  who  had  been 
thrown  so  violently  out  of  her  quiet,  passive  roimd  of  life 
by  her  fa^^her's  death,  that  she  was  incapable  of  any  great 
surprise.  Her  thoughts  were  more  occupied  with  the 
funeral-dinner,  yet  to  come,  than  with  the  relationship 
of  the  young  man  at  her  side. 

Gilbert  slowly  admitted  the  fact  into  his  mind,  but  he 
was  so  unprepared  for  it  by  anything  in  his  mother's  life 
or  his  own  intercourse  with  Alfred  Barton,  that  he  was 
lost  in  a  maze  of  baffled  conjectures.  While  this  confu- 
sion lasted,  he  scarcely  thought  of  his  restoration  to  honor, 
or  the  breaking  down  of  that  fatal  barrier  between  him 
and  Martha  Deane.  Ilis  first  sensation  was  one  of  humilia- 
tion and  disappointment.  How  often  had  he  been  disgusted 
with  Alfred  Barton's  meanness  and  swagger !  How  much 
superior,  in  many  of  the  qualities  of  manhood,  was  even 
the  highwayman,  whose  paternity  he  had  so  feared !  As 
he  looked  at  the  broad,  heavy  form  before  him,  in  which 
even  the  lines  of  the  back  expressed  cowardice  and  abject 
shame,  he  almost  doubted  whether  his  former  disgrace 
was  not  preferable  to  his  present  claim   to  respect 

Then  his  eyes  turned  to  his  mother's  figure,  and  a  sweet, 
proud  joy  swept  away  the  previous  emotion.  Whatever 
the  acknowledged  relationship  might  be  to  him,  to  her  it 
was  honor  —  yea,  more  than  honor ;  for  by  so  nnich  and 
so  cruelly  as  she  had  fallen  below  the  rights  of  her  pure 
name  as  a  woman,  the  higher  would  she  now  be  set,  not 
only  in  respect,  but  in  the  reverence  earned  by  her  saintly 
patience  and  self-denial.  The  wonderful  transformation 
of  her  face  showed  him  what  this  day  was  to  her  life, 
and  he  resolved  that  no  disappointment  of  his  own  should 
eome  between  her  and  her  triumph. 


THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT.  361 

To  Gilbert  the  way  was  not  too  long,  nor  the  progress 
too  slow.  It  gave  him  time  to  grow  familiar,  not  only  with 
the  fact,  but  with  his  duty.  He  forcibly  postponed  Im 
wandering  conjectures,  and  compelled  his  mind  to  dwell 
upon  that  which  lay  immediately  before  him. 

It  was  nearly  noon  before  the  hearse  reached  Old  Ken" 
nett  meeting-house.  The  people  of  the  neighborhood, 
who  had  collected  to  await  its  arrival,  came  forward  and 
assisted  the  mourners  to  alight.  Alfred  Barton  mechan- 
ically took  his  place  beside  his  wife,  but  again  buried  his 
face  in  his  handkerchief  As  the  wondering,  impatient 
crowd  gathered  around,  Gilbert  felt  that  all  was  known, 
and  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  himself  and  his  mother, 
and  his  face  reflected  her  own  firmness  and  strength. 
From  neither  could  the  spectators  guess  what  might  be 
passing  in  their  hearts.  They  were  both  paler  than  usual, 
and  their  resemblance  to  each  other  became  very  striking. 
Gilbert,  in  fact,  seemed  to  have  nothing  of  his  father  ex- 
cept the  peculiar  turn  of  his  shoulders  and  the  strong  build 
of  his  chest 

They  walked  over  the  grassy,  briery,  unmarked  mounds 
of  old  graves  to  the  spot  where  a  pile  of  yellow  earth  de- 
noted Old  Barton's  resting-place.  When  the  coflfin  had 
been  lowered,  his  children,  in  accordance  with  custom, 
drew  near,  one  after  the  other,  to  bend  over  and  look  into 
the  narrow  pit.  Gilbert  led  up  his  trembling  aunt,  who 
might  have  fallen  in,  had  he  not  carefully  supported  her. 
As  he  was  withdrawing,  his  eyes  suddenly  encoimtered 
those  of  Martha  Deane,  who  was  standing  opposite,  in  the 
circle  of  hushed  spectators.  In  spite  of  himself  a  light 
color  shot  into  his  face,  and  his  lips  trembled.  The  eager 
gossips,  who  had  not  missed  even  the  wink  of  an  eyelid, 
saw  this  fleeting  touch  of  emotion,  and  whence  it  came. 
Thenceforth  Martha  shared  their  inspection  ;  but  from  the 
sweet  gravity  of  her  face,  the  untroubled  calm  of  her  eyes, 
they  learned  nothing  more. 


S66  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

When  the  grave  had  been  filled,  and  the  yellow  mound 
ridged  and  patted  with  the  spade,  the  family  returned  to 
the  grassy  space  in  front  of  the  meeting-house,  and  now 
their  more  familiar  acquaintances,  and  many  who  were 
not,  gathered  around  to  greet  them  and  offer  words  of 
condolence.  An  overpowering  feeling  of  curiosity  was 
visible  upon  every  face  ;  those  who  did  not  venture  to  use 
their  tongi.es,  used  their  eyes  the  more. 

Alfred  Barton  was  forced  to  remove  the  handkerchief 
from  his  face,  and  its  haggard  wretchedness  (which  no 
one  attributed  to  grief  for  his  father's  death),  could  no 
longer  be  hidden.  He  appeared  to  have  suddenly  become 
an  old  man,  with  deeper  wrinkles,  slacker  muscles,  and  a 
helpless,  tottering  air  of  weakness.  The  corners  of  his 
mouth  drooped,  hollowing  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
unable  to  bear  up  the  weight  of  the  lids  ;  they  darted 
rapidly  from  side  to  side,  or  sought  the  ground,  not  daring 
to  encounter,  for  more  than  an  instant,  those  of  others. 

There  was  no  very  delicate  sense  of  propriety  among 
the  people,  and  very  soon  an  inquisitive  old  Quaker  re- 
marked, — 

"Why,  Mary,  is  this  true  that  I  hear?  Are  you  two 
man  and  wife  ?  " 

"  We  are,"  she  said. 

"  Bless  us  !  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

The  bystanders  became  still  as  death,  and  all  ears  were 
Btretched  to  catch  the  answer.  But  she,  with  proud,  im- 
penetrable calmness,  replied,  — 

"  It  will  be  made  known." 

And  with  these  words  the  people  were  forced,  that  daj 
Id  be  satisfied. 


THE  8T0RT  OF  KENNETT.  If? 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

THE    WILL. 

Ddring  the  liomeward  journey  from  the  grave.  GilbeTt 
and  his  mother  were  still  the  central  figures  of  interest 
That  the  members  of  the  Barton  family  were  annoyed  and 
humiliated,  was  evident  to  all  eyes  ;  but  it  was  a  pitiful, 
undignified  position,  which  drew  no  sympathy  towards  them, 
while  the  proud,  composed  gravity  of  the  former  com- 
manded respect  The  young  men  and  women,  especially, 
were  imanimously  of  the  opinion  that  Gilbert  had  conducted 
himself  like  a  man.  They  were  disappointed,  it  was  true, 
that  he  and  Martha  Deane  had  not  met,  in  the  sight  of  aU. 
It  was  impossible  to  guess  whether  she  had  been  already 
aware  of  the  secret,  or  how  the  knowledge  of  it  would  aflTect 
their  romantic  relation  to  each  other. 

Could  the  hearts  of  the  lovers  have  been  laid  bare,  the 
people  would  have  seen  that  never  had  each  felt  such  need 
of  the  other,  —  never  had  they  been  possessed  with  such 
restless  yearning.  To  the  very  last,  Gilbert's  eyes  wan- 
dered from  time  to  time  towards  the  slender  figure  in  the 
cavalcade  before  him,  hoping  for  the  chance  of  a  word  or 
look  ;  but  Martha's  finer  instinct  told  her  that  she  must  yet 
hold  herself  aloof.  She  appreciated  the  solenmity  of  the 
revelation,  saw  that  much  was  yet  unexplained,  and  could 
have  gu2ssed,  even  without  Miss  Lavender's  mysterious 
hmts,  that  the  day  would  bring  forth  other  and  more  un- 
portant  disclosures. 

As  the  procession  drew  nearer  Kennett  Square,  the  curi- 
osity of  the  funeral  guests,  baulked  and  yet  constantly  stiin< 


368  THE  STOUT  OP  KENNETT. 

ulated,  "began  to  grow  disorderly.  Sally  Fairthom  was  In 
isuch  a  flutter  that  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  said  or  did ; 
Mark's  authority  alone  prevented  her  from  dashing  up  to 
Gilbert,  regardless  of  appearances.  The  old  men,  especially 
those  in  plain  coats  and  broad-brimmed  hats,  took  eveiy 
opportunity  to  press  near  the  mourners  ;  and  but  for  MLss 
Betsy  Lavender,  who  hovered  around  the  latter  like  a 
watchful  dragon,  both  Gilbert  and  his  mother  would  have 
been  seriously  annoyed.  Finally  the  gate  at  the  lane-end 
closed  upon  them,  and  the  discomfited  public  rode  on  to 
the  village,  tormented  by  keen  envy  of  the  few  who  had 
been  bidden  to  the  funeral-dinner. 

When  Mary  alighted  from  her  horse,  the  old  lawyer 
approached  her. 

"  My  name  is  Stacy,  Mrs.  Barton,"  he  said,  "  and  Miss 
Lavender  will  have  told  you  who  1  am.  Will  you  let  me 
have  a  word  with  you  in  private  ?  " 

She  slightly  started  at  the  name  he  had  given  her ;  it 
was  the  first  symptom  of  agitation  she  had  exhibited.  He 
took  her  aside,  and  began  talking  earnestly  in  a  low  tone. 
Elisha  Barton  looked  on  with  an  amazed,  troubled  air,  and 
presently  turned  to  his  brother. 

"  Alfred,"  he  said,  "  it  is  quite  time  all  this  was  ex- 
plained." 

But  Miss  Lavender  interfered. 

"  It 's  your  right,  Mr.  P21isha,  no  denyin'  that,  and  the 
right  of  all  the  fam'ly ;  so  we  've  agreed  to  have  it  done 
afore  all  together,  in  the  lawful  way,  Mr.  Stacy  bein'  a 
lawyer ;  but  dinner  first,  if  you  please,  for  eatin'  's  good 
both  for  grief  and  cur'osity,  and  it 's  hard  tellin'  which  is 
uppermost  in  this  case.     Gilbert,  come  here  ! " 

He  was  standing  alone,  beside  the  paling.  He  obeyed 
her  call. 

"  Gilbert,  shake  hands  with  your  uncle  and  aunt.  Mr. 
Elisha,  this  is  your  nephew  Gilbert  Barton,  Mr.  Alfired'i 
■on." 


THE  STOBY  OF  KENNETT.  361 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  There  waa 
diat  in  Gilbert's  face  which  enforced  respect  .Contrasted 
with  his  father,  who  stood  on  one  side,  darting  stealthy 
glances  at  the  group  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  his  bear- 
ing was  doubly  brave  and  noble.  He  offered  his  hand  in 
silence,  and  both  Elisha  Barton  and  his  wife  felt  them- 
selves compelled  to  take  it  Then  the  three  sons,  who 
knew  the  name  of  Gilbert  Potter,  and  were  more  astonishec* 
than  shocked  at  the  new  relationship,  came  up  and  greeted 
their  cousin  in  a  grave  but  not  unfriendly  way. 

"  That 's  right ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Lavender.  "  And  now 
come  in  to  dinner,  all  o'  ye !  I  gev  orders  to  have  the 
meats  dished  as  soon  as  the  first  horse  was  seen  over  the 
rise  o'  the  hill,  and  it  '11  all  be  smokin'  on  the  table." 

Though  the  meal  was  such  as  no  one  had  ever  before 
seen  in  the  Barton  farm-house,  it  was  enjoyed  by  very  few 
of  the  company.  The  sense  of  something  to  come  after  it 
made  them  silent  and  uncomfortable.  Mr.  Stacy,  Miss 
Lavender,  and  the  sons  of  Elisha  Barton,  with  their  wives, 
carried  on  a  scattering,  forced  conversation,  and  there  was 
a  general  feeling  of  relief  when  the  pies,  marmalade,  and 
cheese  had  been  consumed,  and  the  knives  and  forks  laid 
crosswise  over  the  plates. 

When  they  arose  from  the  table,  Mr.  Stacy  led  the  way 
into  the  parlor.  A  fire,  in  the  mean  time,  had  been  made 
in  the  chill,  open  fireplace,  but  it  scarcely  relieved  the 
dreary,  frosty  aspect  of  the  apartment  The  presence  of 
the  corpse  seemed  to  linger  there,  attaching  itself  with 
ghastly  distinctness  to  the  chair  and  hickory  staflf  in  a 
comer. 

The  few  dinner-guests  who  were  not  relatives  understood 
that  this  meeting  excluded  them,  and  Elisha  Barton  was 
therefore  surprised  to  notice,  aft^r  they  had  taken  their 
seats,  that  Miss  Lavender  was  one  of  the  company. 

^  I  thought,"  he  said,  with  a  significant  look,  **  that  it  wai 
to  be  the  family  only.**  ♦ 

U 


870  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

*  Miss  Lavender  is  one  of  the  witnesses  to  the  will,"  Mf 
Stacy  answered,  "  and  her  presence  is  necessary,  moreover, 
as  an  important  testimony  in  regard  to  some  of  its  pro- 
visions. " 

Alfred  Barton  and  Gilbert  both  started  at  these  words, 
but  from  very  different  feelings.  The  former,  released  from 
public  scrutiny,  already  experienced  a  comparative  degree 
of  comfort,  and  held  up  his  head  with  an  air  of  courage  j 
yet  now  the  lawyer's  announcement  threw  him  into  an 
agitation  which  it  was  not  possible  to  conceal.  Miss  Lav- 
ender looked  around  the  circle,  coolly  nodded  her  head  to 
Elisha  Barton,  and  said  nothing.  • 

Mr.  Stacy  arose,  unlocked  a  small  niche  let  into  the  wall 
of  the  house,  and  produced  the  heavy  oaken  casket  in  which 
the  old  man  kept  the  documents  relating  to  his  property. 
This  he  placed  upon  a  small  table  beside  his  chair,  opened 
it,  and  took  out  the  topmost  paper.  He  was  completely 
master  of  the  situation,  and  the  deliberation  with  which  he 
surveyed  the  circle  of  excited  faces  around  him  seemed  to 
indicate  that  he  enjoyed  the  fact. 

"  The  last  will  and  testament  of  Abiah  Barton,  made  the 
day  before  his  death,"  he  said,  "  revokes  all  former  wills, 
which  were  destroyed  by  his  order,  in  the  presence  of  my- 
self and  Miss  Elizabeth  Lavender." 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  spinster,  who  again 
nodded,  with  a  face  of  preternatural  solemnity. 

"  In  order  that  you,  his  children  and  grandchildren,** 
Mr.  Stacy  continued,  "  may  rightly  understand  the  de- 
ceased's intention  in  making  this  last  will,  when  the  time 
comes  for  me  to  read  it,  I  must  first  inform  you  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  the  fact  of  his  son  Alfred's  marriage  with 
Mary  Potter." 

Alfred  Barton  half  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  then  fell 
back  with  the  same  startled,  livid  face,  which  Gilbert  al- 
ready knew.  The  others  held  their  breath  in  suspense,  — 
except  Mary,  who  sat  near  the  lawyer,  firm,  cold,  and  un- 
moved. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  871 

•*  The  inarriage  of  Alfred  Barton  and  Mary  Potter  must 
flierefore  be  established,  to  your  satisfaction,"  Mr.  Stacy 
resumed,  turning  towards  Elisha.  "  Alfred  Barton,  I  ask 
you  to  declare  whether  this  woman  is  your  lawfully  wedded 
wife?" 

A  sound  almost  like  a  groan  came  from  his  throat,  but  it 
formed  the  syllable,  —  "  Yes," 

"  Further,  I  ask  you  to  declare  whether  Gilbert  Barton, 
who  has  until  this  day  borne  his  mother's  name  of  Potter, 
is  your  lawfully  begotten  son  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"To  complete  the  evidence,"  said  the  lawyer,  "Mary 
Barton,  give  me  the  paper  in  your  hands." 

She  untied  the  handkerchief,  opened  the  Bible,  and 
handed  Mr.  Stacy  the  slip  of  paper  which  Gilbert  had  seen 
her  place  between  the  leaves  that  morning.  The  lawyer 
gave  it  to  Elisha  Barton,  with  the  request  that  he  would 
read  it  aloud. 

It  was  the  certificate  of  a  magistrate  at  Burlington,  in 
the  Colony  of  New  Jersey,  setting  forth  that  he  had  united 
in  wedlock  Alfred  Barton  and  Mary  Potter.  The  date  was 
in  the  month  of  June,  1771. 

"  This  paper,"  said  Elisha,  when  he  had  finished  reading, 
**  appears  to  be  genuine.  The  evidence  must  have  been 
satisfactory  to  you,  Mr.  Stacy,  and  to  my  father,  since  it 
appears  to  have  been  the  cause  of  his  making  a  new  will ; 
but  as  this  new  will  probably  concerns  me  and  my  children, 
I  demand  to  know  why,  if  the  marriage  was  legal,  it  has 
been  kept  secret  so  long  ?  The  fact  of  the  marriage  does 
not  ex])lain  what  has  happened  to-day." 

Mr.  Stacy  turned  towards  Gilbert's  mother,  and  made  a 
■ign. 

"  Shall  I  explain  it  in  my  way,  Alfred  ?  "  she  asked,  "  of 
will  you,  in  yours  ?  " 

"  There  's  but  one  story,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  guess  it 
to  your  place  to  tell  it." 


872  THE  STORY  OF    KENNETT. 

"  It  does ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  You,  Elisha  and  Ann,  and 
you,  Gilbert,  my  child,  take  notice  that  every  word  of  what 
I  shall  say  is  the  plain  God's  truth.  Twenty-seven  years 
ago,  when  I  was  a  young  woman  of  twenty,  I  came  to  this 
fenn  to  help  Ann  with  the  house-work.  You  remember  it, 
Ann  ;  it  was  just  after  your  mother's  death.  I  was  poor  , 
I  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  but  I  was  as  proud  as  the 
proudest,  and  the  people  called  me  good-looking.  You 
were  vexed  with  me,  Ann,  because  the  young  men  came 
now  and  then,  of  a  Sunday  afternoon ;  but  I  put  up  with 
your  hard  words.  You  did  not  know  that  I  understood 
what  Alfred's  eyes  meant  when  he  looked  at  me  ;  I  put  up 
with  you  because  I  believed  I  could  be  mistress  of  the 
house,  in  your  place.  You  have  had  your  revenge  of  me 
since,  if  you  felt  the  want  of  it  —  so  let  that  rest ! " 

She  paused.  Ann,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
sobbed  out,  — "  Mary,  I  always  liked  you  better  'n  you 
thought." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  she  continued,  "  for  I  have  been  forced 
to  look  into  my  heart  and  learn  how  vain  and  mistaken  I 
then  was.  But  I  liked  Alfred,  in  those  days ;  he  was  a  gay 
young  man,  and  accounted  good-looking,  and  there  were 
merry  times  just  before  the  war,  and  he  used  to  dress 
bravely,  and  was  talked  about  as  likely  to  marry  this  girl 
or  that.  My  head  was  full  of  him,  and  I  believed  my  heart 
was.  I  let  him  see  from  the  first  that  it  must  be  honest 
love  between  us,  or  not  at  all ;  and  the  more  I  held  back, 
the  more  eager  was  he,  till  others  began  to  notice,  and  the 
matter  was  brought  to  his  father's  ears." 

"  I  remember  that ! "  cried  Elisha,  suddenly. 

"  Yet  it  was  kept  close,"  she  resumed.  "  Alfred  told  me 
that  the  old  man  had  threatened  to  cut  him  out  of  his  will 
if  he  should  marry  me,  and  I  saw  that  I  must  leave  the 
fiuTO  ;  but  I  gave  out  that  I  was  tired  of  the  country,  and 
wanted  to  find  service  in  Philadelphia.  I  believed  that 
AUred  would  foUowme  in  a  wefik  or  two,  and  he  did.    He 


THE  STOnV   31   KENNLtT.  878 

brought  ne'ws  I  did  n't  expect,  and  it  turned  my  head  up- 
side down.  His  father  had  had  a  paralytic  stroke,  and 
nobody  believed  he  'd  live  more  than  a  few  weeks.  It  was 
in  the  beginning  of  June,  and  the  doctors  said  he  could  n't 
get  over  the  hot  weather.  Alfred  said  to  me,  Why  wait?  — 
you  '11  be  taking  up  with  some  city  fellow,  and  I  want  you 
to  be  my  wife  at  once.  On  my  side  1  thought,  Let  him  be 
made  rich  and  free  by  his  father's  death,  and  wives  vnll  be 
thrown  in  his  way  ;  he  '11  lose  his  liking  for  me,  by  little 
and  little,  and  somebody  else  will  be  mistress  of  the  farm. 
So  I  agreed,  and  we  went  to  Burlington  together,  as  being 
more  out  of  the  way  and  easier  to  be  kept  secret ;  but  just 
before  we  came  to  the  Squire's,  he  seemed  to  grow  fearsome 
all  at  once,  lest  it  should  be  found  out,  and  he  bought  a 
Bible  and  swore  me  by  my  soul's  salvation  never  to  say  I 
was  married  to  him  until  after  his  father  died.  Here  's  the 
Bible,  Alfred  !  Do  you  remember  it  ?  Here,  here  's  the 
place  where  I  kissed  it  when  I  took  the  oath  ! " 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  held  it  towards  him.  No 
one  could  doubt  the  solemn  truth  of  her  words.  He  nodded 
his  head  mechanically,  unable  to  speak.  Still  standing, 
she  turned  towards  Elisha  Barton,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Be  took  the  same  oath,  but  what  did  it  mean  to  him  I 
What  does  it  mean  to  a  man  ?  I  was  young  and  vain  ;  I 
thought  only  of  holding  fast  to  my  good  luck!  I  never 
thought  of — of" —  (here  her  faced  flushed,  and  her  voice 
began  to  tremble)  —  "  of  you,  Gilbert !  I  fed  my  pride 
by  hoping  for  a  man's  death,  and  never  dreamed  I  was 
bringing  a  curse  on  a  life  that  was  yet  to  come  !  Perhaps 
he  did  n't  then,  either ;  the  Lord  pardon  me  if  I  judge 
him  too  hard.  What  I  charge  him  >vith,  is  that  he  held 
me  to  my  oath,  when  —  when  the  fall  went  by  and  the 
winter,  and  his  father  lived,  and  his  son  was  to  be  bom  1 
It  was  always  the  same,  —  Wait  a  little,  a  month  or  so, 
maybe ;  the  old  man  could  n't  live,  and  it  was  the  diflfer- 
ence  between  riches  and  poverty  for  us.    Then  I  begged 


374  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

for  poverty  and  my  good  name,  and  after  that  he  kepi 
away  from  me.  Before  Gilbert  was  born,  I  hoped  I  might 
die  in  giving  him  life  ;  then  I  felt  that  I  must  live  for  bin 
sake.  I  saw  my  sin,  and  what  punishment  the  Lord  had 
measured  out  to  me,  and  that  I  must  earn  His  forgiveness ; 
and  He  mercifully  hid  from  my  sight  the  long  path  that 
leads  to  this  day ;  for  if  the  release  had  n't  seemed  so  near, 
1  never  could  have  borne  to  wait !  " 

All  the  past  agony  of  her  life  seemed  to  discharge  itself 
in  these  words.  They  saw  what  the  woman  had  suffered, 
what  wonderful  virtues  of  patience  and  faith  had  been  de- 
veloped from  the  vice  of  her  pride,  and  there  was  no  heart 
in  the  company  so  stubborn  as  to  refuse  her  honor.  Gil- 
bert's eyes  were  fixed  on  her  face  with  an  absorbing  ex- 
pression of  reverence  ;  he  neither  knew  nor  heeded  that 
there  were  tears  on  his  cheeks.  The  women  wept  in 
genuine  emotion,  and  even  the  old  lawyer  was  obliged  to 
wipe  his  dinuiied  spectacles. 

Elisha  rose,  and  approaching  Alfred,  asked,  in  a  voice 
which  he  strove  to  make  steady,  —  "  Is  all  this  true  ?  " 

Alfred  sank  his  head  ;  his  reply  was  barely  audible,  — 

"  She  has  said  no  more  than  the  truth." 

"  Then,"  said  Elisha,  taking  her  hand,  "  I  accept  you, 
Mary  Barton,  and  acknowledge  your  place  in  our  family." 

Elisha's  wife  followed,  and  embraced  her  with  many 
tears,  and  lastly  Ann,  who  hung  totteringly  upon  her 
shoulder  as  she  cried,  — 

"  Indeed,  Mary,  indeed  I  always  liked  you ;  I  never 
wished  you  any  harm  ! " 

Thus  encouraged,  Alfred  Barton  made  a  powerful  effort 
Tliere  seemed  but  one  course  for  him  to  take ;  it  was  n 
hard  one,  but  he  took  it. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "you  have  full  right  and  justice  on 
your  side.  I  've  acted  meanly  towards  you  —  meaner,  I  *m 
afraid,  than  any  man  before  ever  acted  towards  his  wifei 
Not  only  to  you,  but  to  Gilbert ;  but  I  always  meant  to 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT.  SK 

do  iny  duty  in  the  end.  I  waited  from  month  to  niondi, 
and  year  to  year,  as  you  did ;  and  then  things  got  set  in 
their  way,  and  it  was  harder  and  harder  to  let  out  the 
truth.  I  comforted  myself —  that  was  n't  right,  either,  I 
know,  —  but  I  comforted  myself  with  the  thought  that  you 
were  doing  well ;  I  never  lost  sight  of  you,  and  I  've  been 
proud  of  Gilbert,  though  I  did  n't  dare  show  it,  and  al- 
ways wanted  to  lend  him  a  helping  hand,  if  he  'd  let  me." 

She  drew  herself  up  and  faced  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  How  did  you  mean  to  do  your  duty  by  me  ?  How  did 
you  mean  to  lend  Gilbert  a  helping  hand  ?  Was  it  by 
trying  to  take  a  second  wife  during  my  lifetime,  and  that 
wife  the  girl  whom  Gilbert  loves  ?  " 

Her  questions  cut  to  the  quick,  and  the  shallow  protes- 
tations he  would  have  set  up  were  stripped  off  in  a  mo- 
ment, leaving  bare  every  cowardly  shift  of  his  life.  Noth- 
ing was  left  but  the  amplest  confession. 

"  You  won't  believe  me,  Mary,"  he  stammered,  feebly 
weeping  with  pity  of  his  own  miserable  plight,  "  and  I 
can't  ask  to  —  but  it 's  the  truth  !  Give  me  your  Bible  I 
1 11  kisp  the  place  you  kissed,  and  swear  before  God  that 
I  nevc^  meant  to  marry  Martha  Deane  !  I  let  the  old 
man  think  so,  because  he  hinted  it  'd  make  a  difference  in 
his  will,  and  he  drove  me  —  he  and  Dr.  Deane  together 
—  to  speak  to  her.  I  was  a  coward  and  a  fool  that  I  let 
myself  be  driven  that  far,  but  I  could  n't  and  would  n't 
have  married  her  !  " 

"  The  whole  snarl  's  comin'  undone,"  interrupted  Miss 
Lavender.  "  I  see  the  end  on  't.  Do  you  mind  that  day, 
Alf.  Barton,  when  I  come  upon  you  suddent,  settin'  on  the 
log  and  sayin'  '  I  can't  see  the  way,'  —  the  very  day,  I  '11 
be  snaked,  that  you  spoke  to  the  Doctor  about  Martha 
Deane  !  —  and  then  you  so  mortal  glad  that  she  would  n't 
have  you  !  You  have  acted  meaner  'n  dirt ;  I  don't  excuse 
him,  Mary ;  but  never  mind  justice  is  justice,  aad  he  's  told 
the  truth  this  once't." 


876  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

«  Sit  down,  friends ! "  said  Mr.  Stacy.  "  Before  the  will 
b  read,  I  want  Miss  Lavender  to  relate  how  it  was  that 
Abiah  Barton  and  myself  became  acquainted  with  the  fact 
of  the  marriage." 

The  reading  of  the  will  had  been  almost  forgotten  in  the 
powerful  interest  excited  by  Mary  Barton's  narrative.  The 
curiosity  to  know  its  contents  instantly  revived,  but  waa 
still  subordinate  to  that  which  the  lawyer's  statement  occa- 
sioned. The  whole  story  was  so  singular,  that  it  seemed 
as  yet  but  half  explained. 

"  Well,  to  begin  at  the  beginnin',"  said  Miss  Lavender, 
"it  all  come  o'  my  wishin'  to  help  two  true-lovyers,  and 
maybe  you  'II  think  I  'm  as  foolish  as  I  'm  old,  but  never 
mind,  I  '11  allow  that ;  and  I  saw  that  nothin'  could  be 
done  till  Gilbert  got  his  lawful  name,  and  how  to  get  it 
was  the  trouble,  bein'  as  Mary  was  swore  to  keep  secret. 
The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  I  tried  to  worm  it  out  o' 
her,  but  no  use ;  she  set  her  teeth  as  tight  as  sin,  and  all 
I  did  learn  was,  that  when  she  was  in  Phildelphy  —  I 
knowed  Gilbert  was  born  there,  but  did  n't  let  on  —  she 
lived  at  Treadwell's,  in  Fourth  Street  Then  turnin*  over 
everything  in  my  mind,  I  suspicioned  that  she  must  be 
waitin'  for  somebody  to  die,  and  that  's  what  held  her 
bound ;  it  seemed  to  me  I  must  guess  right  away,  but  I 
could  n't  and  could  n't,  and  so  goin'  up  the  hill,  nigh 
puzzled  to  death,  Gilbert  ploughin'  away  from  me,  bendin' 
his  head  for'ard  a  little  —  there !  turn  round,  Gilbert ! 
tnm  round,  Alf.  Barton  1  Look  at  them  two  sets  o' 
shoulders ! " 

Miss  Lavender's  words  were  scarcely  comprehensible, 
but  all  saw  the  resemblance  between  father  and  son,  in 
the  outline  of  the  shoulders,  and  managed  to  guess  her 
meaning. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  "  it  struck  me  then  and  there, 
like  a  streak  o'  lightnin' ;  I  screeched  and  tumbled  like 
a  shot  hawk,  and  so  betwixt  the  saddle  and  the  ground, 


THE   STURY   OF   KENNETT.  877 

as  the  sayin'  is,  it  come  to  me  —  not  mercy,  bxit  knowledge, 
all  the  same,  you  know  what  I  mean  ;  and  I  saw  them  was 
Alf.  Barton's  shoulders,  and  I  remembered  the  old  man 
was  struck  with  palsy  the  year  afore  Gilbert  was  born,  and 
I  dunno  how  many  other  things  come  to  me  all  of  a  heap ; 
and  now  you  know,  Gilbert,  what  made  me  holler.  I 
borrowed  the  loan  o'  his  bay  horse  and  put  off  for  Phil- 
delphy  the  very  next  day,  and  a  mortal  job  it  was ;  what 
with  bar'ls  and  boxes  pitched  hither  and  yon,  and  people 
laiighin'  at  y'r  odd  looks,  —  don't  talk  o'  Phildelphy  man- 
ners to  me,  for  I  've  had  enough  of  'em  ! — and  old  Tread- 
well  dead  when  I  did  find  him,  and  the  daughter  married 
to  Greenfield  in  the  brass  and  tin-ware  business,  it 's  a 
mercy  I  ever  found  out  anything." 

"  Come  to  the  point,  Betsy,"  said  Elisha,  impatiently. 

"The  point,  Betsy.  The  p'int  's  this  :  I  made  out  from 
the  Greenfield  woman  that  the  man  who  used  to  come  to 
see  Mary  Potter  was  the  perfect  pictur'  o'  young  Alf.  Bar- 
ton ;  then  to  where  she  went  next,  away  down  to  the 
t'other  end  o'  Third  Street,  boardin',  he  payin'  the  board 
till  just  afore  Gilbert  was  bom  —  and  that  's  enough, 
thinks  I,  let  me  get  out  o'  this  rackety  place.  So  home 
I  posted,  but  not  all  the  way,  for  no  use  to  tell  Mary  Pot- 
ter, and  why  not  go  right  to  Old-man  Barton,  and  let  him 
know  who  his  daughter-in-law  and  son  is,  and  see  what  '11 
come  of  it  ?  Th'  old  man,  you  must  know,  always  could 
abide  me  better  'n  most  women,  and  I  was  n't  a  bit  afeard 
of  him,  not  lookin'  for  legacies,  and  would  n't  have  'em  at 
any  such  price  ;  but  never  mind.  I  hid  my  horse  in  the 
woods  and  sneaked  into  the  house  across  the  fields,  the 
back  way,  and  good  luck  that  nobody  was  at  home  but 
Ann,  here ;  and  so  I  up  and  told  the  old  man  the  whole 
Btory." 

"  The  devil !  "  Alfred  Barton  could  not  help  exclaiming, 
as  he  recalled  his  fathei  's  singular  manner  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  in  question. 


578  THE  STOUT  OF  KENNETT. 

"  Devil !  "  Miss  Lavender  repeated.  "  More  like  an 
angel  put  it  into  my  head.  But  I  see  Mr.  Elisha  's  fidgetty, 
so  I  'II  make  short  work  o'  the  rest.  He  curst  and  swore 
awful,  callin'  Mr.  Alfred  a  mean  pup,  and  I  dunno  what 
all,  but  he  had  n't  so  much  to  say  ag'in  IMary  Potter ;  he 
allowed  she  was  a  smart  lass,  and  he  'd  heerd  o'  Gilbert's 
doin's,  and  the  lad  had  grit  in  him.  '  Then,'  says  I,  '  here  's 
a  mighty  wrong  been  done,  and  it  's  for  you  to  set  it  right 
afore  you  die,  and  if  you  manage  as  I  tell  you,  you  can  be 
even  with  Mr.  Alfred ; '  and  he  perks  up  his  head  and 
asks  how,  and  says  I  '  This  way  '  —  but  what  I  said  '11  be 
made  manifest  by  Mr.  Stacy,  without  my  jumpin'  ahead 
o'  the  proper  time.  The  end  of  it  was,  he  wound  up  by 
sayin',  — '  Gad,  if  Stacy  was  only  here  ! '  '  I  '11  bring 
him  ! '  says  I,  and  it  was  fixed  betwixt  and  between  us  two, 
Ann  knowin'  nothin'  o'  the  matter ;  and  off  I  trapesed  back 
to  Chester,  and  brung  Mr.  Stacy,  and  if  that  good-for- 
nothin'  Jake  Fairthorn  had  n't  ha'  seen  me  "  — 

"That  will  do.  Miss  Lavender,"  said  Mr.  Stacy,  inter- 
rupting her.  "  I  have  only  to  add  that  Abiah  Barton  was 
so  well  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  marriage,  that  his 
new  will  only  requires  the  proof  which  has  to-day  been 
furnished,  in  order  to  express  his  intentions  fully  and  com- 
pletely. It  was  his  wish  that  I  should  visit  Mary  Barton 
on  the  very  morning  afterwards  ;  but  his  sudden  death 
prevented  it,  and  INIiss  Lavender  ascertained,  the  same 
evening,  that  Mary,  in  view  of  the  neglect  and  disgrace 
which  she  had  suffered,  demanded  to  take  her  justification 
into  her  own  hands.  My  opinion  coincided  with  that  of 
Miss  Lavender,  that  she  alone  had  the  right  to  decide  in 
the  matter,  and  that  we  must  give  no  explanation  until 
she  had  asserted,  in  her  own  way,  her  release  from  a  most 
shameful  and  cruel  bond." 

It  was  a  proud  moment  of  Miss  Lavender's  life,  when, 
In  addition  to  her  services,  the  full  extent  of  which  would 
presently  be  known,  a  lawyer  of  Mr.  Stacy's  reputation  so 
respectfully  acknowledged  the  wisdom  of  her  judgment. 


THE  STORY   OF   KENHETT.  879 

"If  fitrther  information  upon  any  point  is  required,** 
observed  the  lawyer,  "  it  may  be  asked  for  now ;  other- 
wise, I  will  proceed  to  the  reading  of  the  will." 

"  Was  —  was  my  father  of  sound  mind,  — that  is,  com- 
petent to  dispose  of  his  property  ?  "  asked  Elisha  Barton, 
with  a  little  hesitation. 

"  I  hope  the  question  will  not  be  raised,"  said  Mr.  Stacy, 
jravely  ;  "  but  if  it  is  I  must  testify  that  he  was  in  as  full 
possession  of  his  faculties  as  at  any  time  since  his  first 
a;tack,  twenty-six  years  ago." 

He  then  read  the  will,  amid  the  breathless  silence  of 
the  company.  The  old  man  first  devised  to  his  elder  soU; 
Elisha  Barton,  the  sum  of  twenty  thousand  dollars,  invest- 
ments secured  by  mortgages  on  real  estate ;  an  equal 
amount  to  his  daughter-in-law,  Mary,  provided  she  was 
able  to  furnish  legal  proof  of  her  marriage  to  his  son, 
Alfred  Barton  ;  five  thousand  dollars  each  to  his  four 
grand-children,  the  three  sons  of  Elisha,  and  Gilbert  Bar- 
ton ;  ten  thousand  dollars  to  his  daughter  Ann  ;  and  to 
his  son  Alfred  the  occupancy  and  use  of  the  farm  during 
his  life,  the  property,  at  his  death,  to  pass  into  the  hands 
of  Gilbert  Barton.  There  was  also  a  small  bequest  to 
Giles,  and  the  reversions  of  the  estate  were  to  be  divided 
equally  among  all  the  heirs.  The  witnesses  to  the  will 
were  James  Stacy  and  P^lizabeth  Lavender, 

Gilbert  and  his  mother  now  recognized,  for  the  first 
time,  what  they  owed  to  the  latter.  A  sense  of  propriety 
kept  them  silent ;  the  fortune  which  had  thus  unexpect- 
edly fallen  into  their  hands  was  the  least  and  poorest  part 
of  their  justification.  Miss  Lavender,  also,  was  held  to 
silence,  but  it  went  hard  with  her.  The  reading  of  the 
will  gave  her  such  an  exquisite  sense  of  enjoyment  that 
she  felt  quite  choked  in  the  hush  which  followed  it 

"  As  the  marriage  is  now  proven,"  Mr.  Stacy  said,  fold« 
ing  up  the  paper,  "  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  will 
from  being  carried  into  effect" 


880  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Elisha ;  "  it  is  as  fair  as  could 
be  expected." 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Gilbert,  suddenly. 

"  Your  grandfather  wanted  to  do  me  justice,  my  boy," 
said  she.  "  Twenty  thousand  dollars  will  not  pay  me  for 
twenty-five  years  of  shame ;  no  money  could  ;  but  it  was 
the  only  payment  he  had  to  offer.  I  accept  this  as  I  ac- 
cepted my  trials.  The  Lord  sees  fit  to  make  my  worldly 
path  smooth  to  my  feet,  and  I  have  learned  neither  to 
reject  mercy  nor  wrath." 

She  was  not  elated  ;  she  would  not,  on  that  solemn  day, 
even  express  gratification  in  the  legacy,  for  her  son's  sake. 
Though  her  exalted  mood  was  but  dimly  understood  by  the 
others,  they  felt  its  influence.  If  any  thought  of  disputing 
the  will,  on  the  ground  of  his  father's  incompetency,  had 
ever  entered  Elisha  Barton's  mind,  he  did  not  dare,  then 
or  afterwards,  to  express  it 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  Elisha  Barton,  with 
his  sons,  who  lived  in  the  adjoining  township  of  Penns- 
bury,  made  preparations  to  leave.  They  promised  soon  to 
visit  Gilbert  and  his  mother.  Miss  Lavender,  taking  Gil- 
bert aside,  announced  that  she  was  going  to  return  to  Dr. 
Deane's. 

"  I  s'pose  I  may  tell  her,"  she  said,  trying  to  hide  her 
feelings  under  a  veil  of  clumsy  irony,  "  that  it 's  all  up  be 
twixt  and  between  you,  now  you  're  a  rich  man  ;  and  of 
course  as  she  would  n't  have  the  father,  she  can't  think  o 
takin'  the  son." 

"  Betsy,"  he  whispered,  "  tell  her  that  I  never  yet  needed 
her  love  so  much  as  now,  and  that  I  shall  come  to  her  to- 
morrow." 

"  Well,  you  know  the  door  stands  open,  even  accordin'  to 
the  Doctor's  words." 

As  Gilbert  went  forth  to  look  after  the  horses,  Alfi^d 
Barton  followed  him.  The  two  had  not  spoken  directly  to 
each  other  during  the  whole  day. 


THK  STORY  OF   KSNNETT.  881 

**  Gilbert,"  said  the  father,  putting  his  hand  on  the  son's 
shoulder,  "you  know,  now,  why  it  always  cut  me,  to  have 
you  think  ill  of  me.  I  deserve  it,  for  I  've  been  no  father 
to  you ;  and  after  what  you  've  heard  to-day,  I  may  never 
have  a  chance  to  be  one.  But  if  you  could  give  me  a 
chance  —  if  you  could  "  — 

Here  his  voice  seemed  to  fail.  Gilbert  quietly  withdrew 
his  shoulder  from  the  hand,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
Baid,  —  "  Don't  ask  me  anything  now,  if  you  please.  I  can 
Bnly  think  of  my  mother  to-day." 

Alfred  Barton  walked  to  the  garden-fence,  leaned  hia 
arms  upon  it,  and  his  head  upon  them.  He  was  still  lean- 
ing tliere,  when  mother  and  sou  rode  by  in  the  twilight,  on 
ttieir  way  home. 


Saa  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

THE    LOVERS. 

Both  mother  and  son  made  the  homeward  ride  in  ri< 
lence.  A  wide  space,  a  deep  gulf  of  time,  separated  them 
from  the  morning.  The  events  of  the  day  had  been  so 
startling,  so  pregnant  with  compressed  fate,  the  emotions 
they  had  undergone  had  been  so  profound,  so  mixed  of  the 
keenest  elements  of  wonder,  pain,  and  pride,  that  a  feeling 
of  exhaustion  succeeded.  The  old  basis  of  their  lives 
seemed  to  have  shifted,  and  the  new  foundations  were  not 
yet  firm  under  their  feet. 

Yet,  as  they  sat  together  before  the  hearth-fire  that  even- 
ing, and  the  stern,  proud  calm  of  Gilbert's  face  slowly 
melted  into  a  gentler  and  tenderer  expression,  his  mothei 
was  moved  to  speak. 

*'  This  has  been  my  day,"  she  said ;  "  it  was  appointed 
and  set  apart  for  me  from  the  first ;  it  belonged  to  me,  and 
I  have  used  it,  in  my  right,  from  sun  to  sun.  But  I  feel 
now,  that  it  was  not  my  own  strength  alone  that  held  me 
up.  I  am  weak  and  weary,  and  it  almost  seems  that  I  fail 
in  thanksgiving.  Is  it,  Gilbert,  because  you  do  not  rejoice 
as  I  had  hoped  you  would  ?  " 

"  Mother,"  he  answered,  "  whatever  may  happen  in  mj 
life,  I  can  never  feel  so  proud  of  myself,  as  I  felt  to-day,  to 
be  your  son.  I  do  rejoice  for  your  sake,  as  I  shall  for  my 
own,  no  doubt,  when  I  get  better  used  to  the  truth.  You 
could  not  expect  me,  at  once,  to  be  satisfied  with  a  father 
who  has  not  only  acted  so  cruelly  towards  you,  but  whom  I 
have  suspected  of  being  my  own  rival  and  enemy.    I  dont 


THE  STORY    OF  KENNETT.  388 

think  I  shall  ever  like  the  new  name  as  well  as  the  old,  but 
it  is  enough  for  nie  that  the  name  brings  honor  and  mde- 
pendence  to  you  ! " 

'•  Perhaps  I  ought  to  ha'  told  you  this  nn'ming,  Gilbert 
I  thought  only  of  the  justification,  not  of  the  trial ;  and  it 
seemed  easier  to  speak  in  actions,  to  you  and  to  all  men  at 
once,  as  I  did,  than  to  tell  the  story  quietly  to  you  alone. 
I  feared  it  might  take  away  my  strength,  if  I  did  n't  follow, 
step  by  step,  the  course  marked  out  for  me." 

"  You  were  right,  mother  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  trial 
had  I,  compared  with  yours  ?  What  tale  had  I  to  tell  -^ 
what  pain  to  feel,  except  that  if  I  had  not  been  born,  yow 
would  have  been  saved  twenty-five  years  of  suffering  I  " 

•'No,  Gilbert! — never  say,  never  think  that!  I  see 
already  the  suffering  and  the  sorrow  dying  away  as  if 
they  'd  never  been,  and  you  left  to  me  for  the  rest  of  life 
the  Lord  grants  ;  to  me  a  son  has  been  more  than  a  hus- 
band ! " 

"  Then,"  he  asked  in  an  anxious,  hesitating  tone,  "  would 
you  consider  that  I  was  not  quite  so  much  a  son  —  that 
any  part  of  my  duty  to  you  was  lost  —  if  I  wished  to  bring 
you  a  daughter,  also  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Gilbert  Betsy  Lavender  has 
told  me  all.  I  am  glad  you  spoke  of  it,  this  day  ;  it  will 
put  the  right  feeling  of  thanksgiving  into  my  heart  and 
yours.  Martha  Deane  never  stood  between  us,  my  boy ;  it 
was  I  that  stood  between  you  and  her !  " 

"  Mother  !  "  he  cried,  a  joyous  light  shining  from  his  face, 
you  love  her  ?  You  are  willing  that  she  should  be  my 
wife?" 

"  Ay,  Gilbert ;  willing,  and  thankful,  and  proud." 

"  But  the  very  name  of  her  struck  you  down  !  You  fell 
into  a  deadly  faint  when  I  told  you  I  had  spoken  my  mind 
to  her ! " 

**  I  see,  my  boy,"  she  said ;  "  I  see  now  why  you  never 
mentioned  her  name,  from  that  time.    It  was  not  Martha 


884  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Deane^  but  the  name  of  the  one  you  thought  wanted  to  «nn 
her  away  from  you,  —  your  father's  name,  Gilbert,  —  that 
seemed  to  put  a  stop  to  my  life.  The  last  trial  was  the 
hardest  of  all,  but  don't  you  see  it  was  only  the  bit  of  dark 
ness  that  comes  before  the  daylight  ?  " 

While  this  new  happiness  brought  the  coveted  sense  of 
thanksgiving  to  mother  and  son,  and  spread  an  unexpected 
warmth  and  peace  over  the  close  of  the  fateful  day,  there 
was  the  liveliest  excitement  in  Kennett  Square,  over  Miss 
Lavender's  intelligence.  That  lady  had  been  waylaid  by  a 
dozen  impatient  questioners  before  she  could  reach  the 
shelter  of  Dr.  Deane's  roof;  and  could  only  purchase 
release  by  a  hurried  statement  of  the  main  facts,  in  which 
Alfred  Barton's  cruelty,  and  his  wife's  wonderful  fidelity  to 
her  oath,  and  the  justice  done  to  her  and  Gilbert  by  the 
old  man's  will,  were  set  forth  with  an  energy  that  multiplied 
itself  as  the  gossip  spread. 

In  the  adjoining  townships,  it  was  reported  and  believed, 
the  very  next  day,  that  Alfred  Barton  had  tried  to  murder 
his  wife  and  poison  his  father  —  that  Mary  had  saved  the 
latter,  and  inherited,  as  her  reward,  the  entire  property. 

Once  safely  housed,  Miss  Lavender  enjoyed  another  tri- 
umph. She  related  the  whole  story,  in  every  particular,  to 
Martha  Deane,  in  the  Doctor's  presence,  taking  especial 
care  not  to  omit  Alfred's  words  in  relation  to  his  enforced 
wooing. 

"  And  there  's  one  thing  I  must  n't  forgit,  Martha,"  she 
declared,  at  the  close  of  her  narrative.  "  Gilbert  sends 
word  to  you  that  he  needs  your  true-love  more  'n  ever,  and 
he  's  comin'  up  to  see  you  to-morrow ;  and  says  I  to  him, 
The  door 's  open,  even  accordin*  to  the  Doctor's  words  ;  and 
80  it  is,  for  he  's  got  his  true  name,  and  free  to  come 
You  're  a  man  o'  your  word.  Doctor,  and  nothin'  's  been  said 
or  done,  thank  Goodness,  that  can't  be  easy  mended  !  " 

What  impression  this  announcement  made  upon  Dr 
Deane  could  not  be  guessed  by  either  of  the  women.     He 


THE   STORY   OF    KENNETT.  888 

row,  went  to  the  window,  looked  into  the  night  for  a  long 
time  without  saying  a  word,  and  finally  betook  himself  to 
his  bed. 

The  next  morning,  although  there  were  no  dangerous 
cases  on  his  hands,  he  rode  away,  remarking  that  he  should 
not  be  home  again  until  the  evening.  Martha  knew  what 
this  meant,  and  also  what  Miss  Lavender  meant  in  hurry- 
ing down  to  Fairthorn's,  soon  after  the  Doctor's  departure. 
She  became  restless  ^vith  tender  expectation ;  her  cheeks 
burned,  and  her  fingers  trembled  so  that  she  was  forced  to 
lay  aside  her  needle-work.  It  seemed  very  long  since  she 
had  even  seen  Gilbert ;  it  was  a  long  time  (in  the  calendar 
of  lovers)  since  the  two  had  spoken  to  each  other.  She 
tried  to  compare  the  man  he  had  been  with  the  man  he 
now  was,  —  Gilbert  poor,  disgraced  and  in  trouble,  with 
Gilbert  rich  and  honorably  born  ;  and  it  almost  seemed  as 
if  the  latter  had  impoverished  her  heart  by  taking  from  it 
the  need  of  that  faithful,  passionate  sympathy  which  she 
had  bestowed  upon  the  former. 

The  long  hour  of  waiting  came  to  an  end.  Roger  was 
once  more  tethered  at  the  gate,  and  Gilbert  was  in  the 
room.  It  was  not  danger,  this  time,  beyond  the  brink  of 
which  they  met,  but  rather  a  sudden  visitation  of  security ; 
yet  both  w<;re  deeply  and  powerfully  agitated.  Martha  was 
the  first  to  recover  her  composure.  Withdrawing  herself 
fix)m  Gilbert's  arms,  she  said,  —  ^ 

"  It  was  not  right  that  the  tests  should  be  all  on  my  side. 
Now  it  is  my  turn  to  try  you,  Gilbert !  " 

Even  her  arch,  happy  smile  did  not  enlighten  him, 
«  How,  Martha  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Since  you  don't  know,  you  are  already  tested.  But 
how  grave  you  look  !  Have  I  not  yet  learned  all  of  this 
wonderful,  wondeiful  history  ?  Did  Betsy  Lavender  keep 
something  back  ?  " 

"  Martha  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  shame  me  out  of  the  words  I 
had  meant  to  say.  But  they  were  doubts  of  my  own  posi 
8» 


586  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

tion,  not  of  you.  Is  my  new  name  better  or  worse  in  yoai 
ears,  than  my  old  one  ?  " 

"  To  me  you  are  only  Gilbert,"  she  answered,  "  as  I  ara 
Martha  to  you.  What  does  it  matter  whether  we  write 
Potter  or  Barton  ?  Either  is  good  in  itself,  and  so  would 
any  o^Jier  name  be  ;  but  Barton  means  something,  as  the 
world  goes,  and  therefore  we  will  take  it.  Gilbert,  I  have 
put  myself  in  your  place,  since  I  learned  the  whole  truth. 
I  guessed  you  would  come  to  me  with  a  strange,  uncertain 
feeling,  —  not  a  doubt,  but  rather  a  wonder ;  and  I  endeav- 
ored to  make  your  new  circumstances  clear  to  my  mind. 
Our  duty  to  your  mother  is  plain ;  she  is  a  woman  beside 
whom  all  other  women  we  know  seem  \veak  and  insignifi- 
cant It  is  not  that  which  troubled  you,  I  am  sure,  when 
you  thought  of  me.  Let  me  say,  then,  that  so  far  as  our 
relation  to  your  father  is  concerned,  I  will  be  guided  en- 
tirely by  your  wishes." 

"  Martha,"  he  said,  "  that  is  my  trouble,  —  or,  rather,  my 
disappointment,  —  that  with  my  true  name  I  must  bring 
to  you  and  fasten  upon  you  the  whole  mean  and  shameful 
story !  One  parent  must  always  be  honored  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other,  and  my  name  still  belongs  to  the  one 
that  is  disgraced." 

"  I  foresaw  your  feeling,  Gilbert.  You  were  on  the 
point  of  making  another  test  for  me  ;  that  is  not  fair 
The  truth  has  come  too  suddenly,  —  the  waters  of  your 
life  have  been  stirred  too  deeply ;  you  must  wait  until 
they  clear.  Leave  that  to  Alfred  Barton  and  your  mother. 
To  me,  I  confess,  he  seems  very  weak  rather  than  very 
bad.  I  can  now  understand  the  pains  which  his  addresses 
to  me  must  have  cost  him.  If  I  ever  saw  fear  on  a  man's 
face,  it  was  on  his  when  he  thought  I  might  take  him  at  his 
word.  But,  to  a  man  like  you,  a  mean  nature  is  no  better 
than  a  bad  one.  Perhaps  I  feel  your  disappointment  as 
deeply  as  you  can  ;  yet  it  is  our  duty  to  keep  this  feeling 
to  ourselves.     For  your  mother's  sake,  Gilbert ;  you  must 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETl  S87 

aeft  let  the  value  of  her  justification  be  lessened  in  her 
eyes.  She  deserves  all  the  happiness  you  and  I  can  give 
her,  and  if  she  is  willing  to  receive  me,  some  day,  as  a 
daughter  "  — 

Gilbert  interrupted  her  words  by  clasping  her  in  his 
arms.  "  Martha  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  your  heart  points  out 
the  true  way  because  it  is  true  to  the  core  !  In  these 
things  a  woman  sees  clearer  than  a  man  ;  when  I  am  with 
you  only,  I  seem  to  have  proper  courage  and  independence 

—  I  am  twice  myself !  Won't  you  let  me  claim  you  —  take 
you  —  soon  ?  My  mother  loves  you  ;  she  will  welcome  you 
as  my  wife,  and  will  your  father  still  stand  between  us  ?  " 

Martha  smiled.  "  ]My  father  is  a  man  of  strong  will," 
she  said,  "  and  it  is  hard  for  him  to  admit  that  his  judg- 
ment was  wrong.  We  must  give  him  a  little  time,  —  not 
urge,  not  seem  to  triumph,  spare  his  pride,  and  trust  to 
his  returning  sense  of  what  is  right  You  might  claim 
reparation,  Gilbert,  for  his  cruel  words ;  I  could  not  for- 
bid you  ;  but  after  so  much  strife  let  there  be  peace,  if 
possible." 

"  It  is  at  least  beyond  his  power,"  Gilbert  replied,  "  to 
accuse  me  of  sordid  motives.  As  I  said  before,  Martha, 
give  up  your  legacy,  if  need  be,  but  come  to  me  !  " 

"  As  /  said  before.  Gilbert  the  legacy  is  honestly  mine, 
and  I  will  come  to  you  with  it  in  my  hands." 

Then  they  both  began  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  conflict  of 
purpose  which  drew  them  nearer  together,  in  both  senses, 

—  an  emulation  of  unselfish  love,  which  was  compromised 
by  clasping  arms  and  silent  lips. 

There  was  a  sudden  noise  in  the  back  part  of  the  house. 
A  shrill  voice  was  heard,  exclaiming,  —  "I  will  —  I  will ! 
don't  hold  me ! "  —  the  door  burst  open,  and  Sally  Fair- 
thorn  whirled  into  the  room,  with  the  skirt  of  her  gown 
torn  loose,  on  one  side,  from  the  body.  Behind  her  fol- 
lowed Miss  Lavender,  in  a  state  of  mingled  amusemeni 
ind  anger. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Sally  kissed  Martha,  then  Gilbert,  then  threw  an  ann 
around  the  neck  of  each,  cryiag  and  laughing  hysterically 
"  0  Martha  !  O  Gilbert !  you  '11  be  married  first,  —  I  said 
it,  —  but  Mark  and  I  must  be  your  bridesmaids ;  don't 
laugh,  you  know  what  I  mean  ;  and  Betsy  would  n't  have 
me  break  in  upon  you  ;  but  I  waited  half  an  hour,  and 
then  off,  up  here,  she  after  me,  and  we  're  both  out  o* 
breath  !     Did  ever,  ever  such  a  thing  happen  !  " 

"  You  crazy  thing  !  "  cried  Miss  Lavender.  "  No,  such 
a  thing  never  happened,  and  would  n't  ha'  happened  this 
time,  if  I  'd  ha'  been  a  little  quicker  on  my  legs ;  but  never 
mind,  it  serves  me  right ;  you  two  are  to  blame,  for  why 
need  I  trouble  my  head  furder  about  ye  ?  There  's  cases, 
thev  say,  where  two  's  company,  and  three  's  overmuch ; 
but  you  may  fix  it  for  yourselves  next  time,  and  welcome ; 
and  there  's  one  bit  o'  wisdom  I  've  got  by  it,  —  foller 
true-lovyers,  and  they  '11  wear  your  feet  off,  and  then  want 
you  to  go  on  the  stumps  !  " 

"  We  won't  relieve  you  yet,  Betsy,"  said  Gilbert ;  "  will 
we,  Martha  ?  The  good  work  you  've  done  for  us  is  n't 
finished." 

^*  Is  n't  finished.  Well,  you  '11  gi'  me  time  to  make  my 
will,  first.  How  long  d'  ye  expect  me  to  last,  at  this  rate  ? 
Is  my  bones  brass  and  my  flesh  locus'-wood  ?  Am  I  like 
a  tortle,  that  goes  around  the  fields  a  hundred  years  ?  " 

"  No,"  Gilbert  answered,  "  but  you  shall  be  like  an  angel, 
dressed  all  in  white,  with  roses  in  your  hair.  Sally  and 
Mark,  you  know,  want  to  be  the  first  bridesmaids  "  — 

Sally  interrupted  him  with  a  slap,  but  it  was  not  very 
violent,  and  he  did  not  even  attempt  to  dodge  it. 

"  Do  you  hear,  Betsy  ?  "  said  Martha.  "  It  must  be  as 
Gilbert  says." 

**  A  pretty  fool  you  'd  make  o'  me,"  Miss  Lavender  re- 
marked, screwing  up  her  face  to  conceal  her  happy  emo- 
tion. 

Gilbert  soon  afterwards  left  for  home,  but  returned  to 


TUB   STORY  OF  KENNETT.  389 

wards  evening,  determined,  before  all  things,  to  ascertain 
bis  present  standing  with  Dr.  Deane.  He  did  not  antici- 
pate that  the  task  had  been  made  easy  for  him ;  but  this 
was  really  the  case.  Wherever  Dr.  Deane  had  been  that 
day^  whoever  he  had  seen,  the  current  of  talk  all  ran  cne 
way.  When  the  first  surprise  of  the  news  had  been  ex- 
hausted, and  the  Doctor  had  corrected  various  monstrous 
rumors  from  his  own  sources  of  positive  knowledge,  one 
inference  was  sure  to  follow,  —  that  now  there  could  be  no 
objection  to  his  daughter  becoming  Gilbert  Barton's  wife. 
He  was  sounded,  urged,  almost  threatened,  and  finally 
returned  home  with  the  conviction  that  any  further  oppo- 
sition nmst  result  in  an  immense  sacrifice  of  popularity. 

Still,  he  was  not  ready  to  act  upon  that  conviction,  at 
once.  He  met  Gilbert  with  a  bland  condescension,  and 
when  the  latter,  after  the  first  greeting,  asked,  — 

"  Have  I  now  the  right  to  enter  your  house  ?  " 

The  Doctor  answered,  — 

"  Certainly.  Thee  has  kept  thy  word,  and  I  will  will- 
ingly admit  that  I  did  thee  wrong  in  suspecting  thee  of 
unworthy  devices.  I  may  say,  also,  that  so  far  as  I  was 
able  to  judge,  I  approved  of  thy  behavior  on  the  day  of 
thy  grandfather's  funeral.  In  all  that  has  happened  here- 
tofore, I  have  endeavored  to  act  cautiously  and  prudently ; 
and  thee  will  grant,  I  doubt  not,  that  thy  family  history  is 
BO  very  far  out  of  the  common  way,  as  that  no  man  could 
be  called  upon  to  believe  it  without  the  strongest  evidence. 
Of  course,  all  that  I  brought  forward  against  thee  now  falls 
to  the  ground." 

"  I  trust,  then,"  Gilbert  said,  "  that  you  have  no  further 
cause  to  forbid  my  engagement  with  Martha.  My  mother 
has  given  her  consent,  and  we  both  hope  for  yours." 

Dr.  Deane  appeared  to  reflect,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
with  his  cane  across  his  knees.  "  It  is  a  very  serious 
thing,"  he  said,  at  last,  —  "  very  senous,  indeed.  Not  a 
subject  for  hasty  decision.    Thee  offered,  if  I  remember 


890  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

rightly,  to  give  me  time  to  know  thee  better;  therefon 
thee  cannot  complain  if  I  were  now  disposed  to  accept  thj 
offer." 

Gilbert  fortunately  remembered  Martha's  words,  and 
restrained  his  impatience. 

"  I  will  readily  give  you  time,  Dr.  Deane,"  he  replied, 
"  provided  you  will  give  me  opportunities.  You  are  free  to 
question  all  who  know  me,  of  course,  and  I  suppose  you 
have  done  so.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  take  the  trouble  to 
come  to  me,  in  order  that  we  may  become  better  acquainted, 
but  only  that  you  will  allow  me  to  come  to  you." 

"  It  would  hardly  be  fair  to  deny  thee  that  much,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

"  I  will  ask  no  more  now.  I  never  meant,  from  the  first 
to  question  your  interest  in  Martha's  happiness,  or  your 
right  to  advise  her.  It  may  be  too  soon  to  expect  youi 
consent,  but  at  least  you  '11  hold  back  your  refusal  ?  " 

"  Thee  's  a  reasonable  young  man,  Gilbert,"  the  Doctor 
remarked,  after  a  pause  which  was  quite  unnecessary.  "  1 
like  that  in  thee.  We  are  both  agreed,  then,  that  while 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  thee  in  my  house,  and  am  willing 
to  allow  to  Martha  and  thee  the  intercourse  proper  to  a 
young  man  and  woman,  it  is  not  yet  to  be  taken  for  granted 
that  I  sanction  your  desired  marriage.  Remember  me 
kindly  to  thy  mother,  and  say,  if  thee  pleases,  that  I  shall 
soon  call  to  see  her." 

Gilbert  had  scarcely  reached  home  that  evening,  before 
Deb.  Smith,  who  had  left  the  farm-house  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  recovery  of  the  money,  suddenly  made  her 
appearance.  She  slipped  into  the  kitchen  without  knock- 
ing, and  crouched  down  in  a  corner  of  the  wide  chimney- 
place,  before  she  spoke.  Both  mother  and  son  were 
struck  by  the  singular  mixture  of  shyness  and  fear  in 
hei  manner. 

"  1  heerd  all  about  it,  to-day,"  she  presently  said,  "  and 
I  would  n't  ha'  come  here,  if  1  'd  ha'  knowed  where  else 


THE  8T05T   OF  KENKETT.  891 

to  go  to.  They  're  after  me.  this  time,  Sandy's  friends, 
in  dea4  earnest ;  they  '11  have  my  blood,  if  they  can  git  iti 
but  you  said  once't  you  'd  shelter  me,  Mr.  Gilbert ! " 

**  So  I  will,  Deborah ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  do  you  doubt  mj 
word  ?  " 

•*  No,  I  don't ;  but  I  dunno  how  't  is  —  you  're  rich  now, 
and  as  well-bom  as  the  best  of  'em,  and  ISIary  's  lawful 
married  and  got  her  lawful  name  ;  and  you  both  seem  tr 
be  set  among  the  folks  that  can't  feel  for  a  body  like  me 
not  that  your  hearts  is  changed,  only  it  comes  different  tc 
me.  somehow." 

"  Stay  here,  Deborah,  until  you  feel  sure  you  're  safe," 
said  Mary.  "  If  Gilbert  or  I  should  refuse  to  protect  yoa 
your  blood  would  be  upon  our  heads.  I  won't  blame  you 
for  doubting  us ;  I  know  how  easy  it  is  to  lose  faith  in 
others  ;  but  if  you  think  I  was  a  friend  to  you  while  mj 
name  was  disgraced,  you  must  also  remember  that  I  knew 
the  truth  then  as  well  as  the  world  knows  it  now." 

"  Bless  you  for  sayin'  that,  Mary  !  There  was  n't  much 
o'  my  name  at  any  time ;  but  what  little  I  might  ha'  had  is 
clean  gone  —  nothin'  o'  me  left  but  the  strong  arm  !  I  'm 
not  a  coward,  as  you  know,  Mr.  Gilbert ;  I  '11  meet  any 
man,  face  to  face,  in  a  fair  and  open  fight  Let  'em  come 
in  broad  day,  and  on  the  high  road  !  —  not  lay  in  wait  in 
bushes  and  behind  fences,  to  shoot  me  down  unawares." 

They  strove  to  quiet  her  fears,  and  little  by  little  she 
gtew  composed.  The  desperate  recklessness  of  her  mood 
contrasted  strangely  with  her  morbid  fear  of  an  ambushed 
enemy.  Gilbert  suspected  that  it  might  be  a  temporary 
insanity,  growing  out  of  her  remorse  for  having  betrayed 
Sandy  Flash,  When  she  had  been  fed,  and  had  smoked 
a  pipe  or  two,  she  seemed  quite  to  forget  it,  and  was  almost 
her  own  self  when  she  went  up  to  her  bed  in  the  western 
room. 

The  moon,  three  quarters  full,  was  hanging  over  the 
bam,  and  made  a  peaceful,  snowy  light  about  the  house 


899  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

She  went  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and  breathed  the  cool 
air  of  the  April  night.  The  "  herring-frogs  "  were  keep< 
ing  up  an  incessant,  birdlike  chirp  down  the  glen,  and 
nearer  at  hand  the  plunging  water  of  the  mill-race  made 
a  soothing  noise.  It  really  seemed  that  the  poor  creature 
had  found  a  quiet  refuge  at  last. 

Suddenly,  something  rustled  and  moved  behind  the 
mass  of  budding  lilacs,  at  the  farther  comer  of  the  garden- 
paling.  She  leaned  forward  ;  the  next  moment  there  was 
a  flash,  the  crack  of  a  musket  rang  sharp  and  loud  through 
the  dell,  followed  by  a  whiz  and  thud  at  her  very  ear.  A 
thin  drift  of  smoke  rose  above  the  bushes,  and  she  saw  a 
man's  figure  springing  to  the  cover  of  the  nearest  apple- 
tree.  In  another  minute,  Gilbert  made  his  appearance, 
gun  in  hand. 

«  Shoot  him,  Gilbert ! "  cried  Deb.  Smith ;  « it 's  Dough- 
erty ! " 

Whoever  it  was,  the  man  escaped;  but  by  a  singular 
coincidence,  the  Irish  ostler  disappeared  that  night  fh)m 
the  Unicom  tavern,  and  was  never  again  seen  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

The  bullet  had  buried  itself  in  the  window-frame,  after 
having  passed  within  an  inch  or  two  of  Deb.  Smith's  head.* 
To  Gilbert's  surprise,  all  her  fear  was  gone  ;  she  was  again 
fierce  and  defiant,  and  boldly  came  and  went,  from  that 
night  forth,  saying  that  no  bullet  was  or  would  be  cast,  to 
take  her  life. 

Therein  she  was  right ;  but  it  was  a  dreary  life  and  a 
miserable  death  which  awaited  her.  For  twenty-five  years 
she  wandered  about  the  neighborhood,  achieving  wonders 
in  spinning,  reaping  and  threshing,  by  the  undiminished 
force  of  her  arm,  though  her  face  grew  haggard  and  her 
hair  gray ;  sometimes  plunging  into  wild  drinking-bouts 
with  the  rough  male  companions  of  her  younger  days; 

1  The  hole  made  by  the  ballet  still  remaiiu  b  the  wmdow-frame  of  tkt 
«ld  fium-faonae. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

Bometinies  telling  a  new  generation,  with  weeping  and  via 
lent  self-accusation,  the  story  of  her  treachery  ;  but  always 
with  the  fearful  conviction  of  a  yet  unfulfilled  curse  hang- 
ing over  her  life.  Whether  it  was  ever  made  manifest, 
no  man  could  tell ;  but  when  she  was  found  lying  dead 
on  the  floor  of  her  lonely  cabin  on  the  Woodrow  farm, 
with  staring,  ston;«  eyes,  and  the  lines  of  unspeakable 
horror  on  her  white  face,  there  were  those  who  recalled 
her  own  superstitious  forebodings,  and  believed  them. 


394  THE   STORY    OF    KENNETT. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

HUSBAND    AND    WIFE. 

It  may  readily  be  guessed  that  such  extraordinary  de- 
velopments as  those  revealed  in  the  preceding  chapters 
produced  more  than  a  superficial  impression  upon  a  quiet 
community  like  that  of  Kennett  p,nd  the  adjoining  town- 
ships. People  secluded  from  the  active  movements  of 
the  world  are  drawn  to  take  the  greater  interest  in  their 
own  little  family  histories, — a  feeling  which  by-and-by 
amounts  to  a  partial  sense  of  ownership,  justifying  not 
only  any  degree  of  advice  or  comment,  but  sometimes 
even  actual  interference. 

The  Quakers,  who  formed  a  majority  of  the  population, 
and  generally  controlled  public  sentiment  in  domestic  mat- 
ters, through  the  purity  of  their  own  domestic  life,  at  once 
pronounced  in  favor  of  Mary  Barton.  The  fact  of  her 
having  taken  an  oath  was  a  slight  stumbling-block  to  some ; 
but  her  patience,  her  fortitude,  her  submission  to  what  she 
felt  to  be  the  Divine  Will,  and  the  solemn  strength  which 
had  upborne  her  on  the  last  trying  day,  were  qualities 
which  none  could  better  appreciate.  The  fresh,  warm 
sympathies  of  the  younger  people,  already  given  to 
Gilbert  and  Martha,  now  also  embraced  her;  far  and 
wide  went  the  wonderful  story,  carrying  with  it  a  wave 
of  pity  and  respect  for  her,  of  contempt  and  denunciation 
for  her  husband. 

The  old  Friends  and  their  wives  came  to  visit  her,  in 
their  stately  chairs;  almost  daily,  for  a  week  or  two,  the 
quiet  of  the  farm  was  invaded,  either  by  them,  or  by  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  395 

few  friends  who  had  not  forsaken  her  in  her  long  disgrace, 
and  were  doubly  welcome  now.  She  received  them  all 
with  the  same  grave,  simple  dignity  of  manner,  gratefully 
accepting  their  expressions  of  sympathy,  and  quietly  turn- 
ing aside  the  inconsiderate  questions  that  would  have 
probed  too  deeply  and  painfully. 

To  an  aged  Friend,  —  a  preacher  of  the  sect,  —  who 
plumply  asked  her  what  course  she  intended  to  pursue 
towards  her  husband,  she  replied,  — 

"  I  will  not  trouble  my  season  of  thanksgiving.  What 
is  right  for  me  to  do  will  be  made  manifest  when  the  occa- 
sion comes." 

This  reply  was  so  entirely  in  the  Quaker  spirit  that  the 
old  man  was  silenced.  Dr.  Deane,  who  was  present,  looked 
upon  her  with  admiration. 

Whatever  conjectures  Alfred  Barton  mi»ht  have  made 
in  advance,  of  the  consequences  which  would  follow  the 
disclosure  of  his  secret  marriage,  they  could  have  borne  no 
resemblance  to  the  reality.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to 
imagine  the  changes  which  the  years  had  produced  in  his 
wife.  He  looked  forward  to  wealth,  to  importance  in  the 
community,  and  probably  supposed  that  she  would  only  be 
too  glad  to  share  the  proud  position  with  him.  There 
would  be  a  little  embarrassment  at  first,  of  course  ;  but  his 
money  would  soon  make  everything  smooth. 

Now,  he  was  utterly  defeated,  crushed,  overwhelmed. 
The  public  judgment,  so  much  the  more  terrible  where 
there  is  no  escape  from  it,  rolled  down  upon  him.  Avoided 
or  coldly  ignored  by  the  staid,  respectable  farmers,  openly 
insulted  by  his  swaggering  comrades  of  the  fox-hunt  and 
the  bar-room,  jeered  at  and  tortured  by  the  poor  and  idle 
hangers-on  of  the  community,  who  took  a  malicious  pleasure 
in  thus  repaying  him  for  his  former  haughtiness  and  their 
own  humility,  he  found  himself  a  moral  outcast  Hia 
situation  became  intolerable.  He  no  longer  dared  to  show 
tiimself  in  the  village,  or  upon  the  highways,  but  slunk 


896  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

about  the  house  and  farm,  cursing  himself,  his  father  and 
the  miserable  luck  of  his  life. 

When,  finally,  Giles  begged  to  know  how  soon  his  legacj 
would  be  paid,  and  hinted  that  he  could  n't  stay  any  longer 
than  to  get  possession  of  the  money,  for,  hard  as  it  might 
be  to  leave  an  old  home,  he  must  stop  going  to  the  mill,  or 
getting  the  horses  shod,  or  sitting  in  the  Unicom  bar-room 
of  a  Saturday  night,  and  a  man  might  as  well  be  in  jail  af 
once,  and  be  done  with  it  —  when  Alfred  Barton  heard  all 
this,  he  deliberated,  for  a  few  minutes,  whether  it  would 
not  be  a  good  thing  to  cut  his  own  throat. 

Either  that,  or  beg  for  mercy  ;  no  other  course  was  left. 

That  evening  he  stole  up  to  the  village,  fearful,  at  every 
step,  of  being  seen  and  recognized,  and  knocked  timidly  at 
Dr.  Deane's  door.  Martha  and  her  father  were  sitting 
together,  when  he  came  into  the  room,  and  they  were 
equally  startled  at  his  appearance.  His  large  frame  seemed 
to  have  fallen  in,  his  head  was  bent,  and  his  bushy  whiskers 
had  become  quite  gray  ;  deep  wrinkles  seamed  his  face ;  his 
eyes  were  hollow,  and  the  comers  of  his  mouth  drooped 
with  an  expression  of  intolerable  misery. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  a  word  to  Miss  Martha,  if  she  '11  let 
me,"  he  said,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I  allowed  thee  to  speak  to  my  daughter  once  too  often," 
Dr.  Deane  sternly  replied.  "  What  thee  has  to  say  now, 
must  be  said  in  my  presence." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  took  a  chair  and  sat  down, 
turning  towards  Martha.  "  It 's  come  to  this,"  he  said, 
**  that  I  must  have  a  little  mercy,  or  lay  hands  on  my  own 
life.  I  have  n't  a  word  to  say  for  myself;  I  deserve  it  all. 
1 1\  do  anything  that 's  wanted  of  me  —  whatever  Mary 
says,  or  people  think  is  her  right  that  she  has  n't  yet  got, 
if  it 's  mine  to  give.  You  said  you  wished  me  well,  Miss 
Martha,  even  at  the  time  I  acted  so  shamefully ;  I  remem- 
ber that,  and  so  I  ask  you  to  help  me." 

She  saw  that  he  spoke  truth,  at  last,  and  all  her  coo 


THE  STORY   OF  KEN  NEXT.  897 

tempt  and  disgust  could  not  keep  down  the  quick  sensation 
of  pity  which  his  wretchedness  inspired.  But  she  was  un- 
prepared for  his  appeal,  and  uncertain  how  to  answer  it. 

**  What  would  you  have  nie  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Go  to  Mary  on  my  behalf !  Ask  her  to  pardon  me,  if 
she  can,  or  say  what  I  can  do  to  earn  her  pardon  —  that 
the  people  may  know  it  They  won't  be  so  hard  en  me,  if 
they  know  she  's  done  that.  Everything  depends  on  her, 
and  il  it 's  true,  as  they  say,  that  she  's  going  to  sue  for 
a  divorce  and  take  back  her  own  name  for  herself  and 
Gilbert,  and  cut  loose  from  me  forever,  why,  it  '11  just "  — 

He  paused,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  that,"  said  Martha. 

"  Have  n't  you  ?  "  he  asked.  "  But  it 's  too  likely  to  be 
true." 

"  Why  not  go  directly  to  Mary,  yourself?" 

"  I  will,  Miss  Martha,  if  you  '11  go  with  me,  and  maybe 
say  a  kind  word  now  and  then,  —  that  is,  if  you  think  it 
is  n't  too  soon  for  mercy  !  " 

"  It  is  never  too  soon  to  ask  for  mercy,"  she  said,  coming 
to  a  sudden  decision.  "  I  will  go  with  you  ;  let  it  be  to- 
morrow." 

"  Martha,"  warned  Dr.  Deane,  "  is  n't  thee  a  little 
hasty?" 

"  Father,  I  decide  nothing.  It  is  in  Mary's  hands.  He 
thinks  my  presence  will  give  him  courage,  and  that  I  can- 
not refuse." 

The  next  morning,  the  people  of  Kennett  Square  were 
again  startled  out  of  their  proprieties  by  the  sight  of  Alfred 
Barton,  pale,  agitated,  and  avoiding  the  gaze  of  every  one, 
waiting  at  Dr.  Deane's  gate,  and  then  riding  side  by  side 
with  Martha  down  the  Wilmington  road.  An  hour  before, 
she  had  dispatched  Joe  Fairthorn  with  a  note  to  Gilbert, 
informing  him  of  the  impending  visit  Once  on  the  way, 
she  feared  lest  she  had  ventured  too  far ;  it  nn'ght  be,  as 
her  father  had  said,  too  hasty ;  and  the  coming  meeting 


398  THE  SrOKY  OF  KEN  NEXT. 

teith  Gilbert  and  his  mother  disquieted  her  not  a  little  II 
was  a  siknt,  anxious  ride  for  both. 

When  they  reached  the  gate,  Gilbert  was  on  hand  to 
receive  them.  His  face  always  brightened  at  the  sight  of 
Martha,  and  his  hands  lifted  her  as  tenderly  as  ever  from 
the  saddle.  "  Have  I  done  right  ? "  she  anxiously  whick 
pered. 

"  It  is  for  mother  to  say,"  he  whispered  back. 

Alfred  Barton  advanced,  offering  his  hand.  Gilbert 
looked  upon  his  father's  haggard,  imploring  face,  a  mo« 
ment;  a  recollection  of  his  own  disgrace  shot  into  his 
heart,  to  soften,  not  to  exasperate  ;  and  he  accepted  the 
hand.     Then  he  led  the  way  into  the  house. 

Mary  Barton  had  simply  said  to  her  son, —  "  I  felt  that  he 
would  come,  sooner  or  later,  and  that  I  must  give  him  a 
hearing  —  better  now,  perhaps,  since  you  and  Martha  will 
be  with  me." 

They  found  her  awaiting  them,  pale  and  resolute. 

Gilbert  and  Martha  moved  a  little  to  one  side,  leaving 
the  husband  and  wife  facing  each  other.  Alfred  Barton 
was  too  desperately  moved  to  shrink  from  Mary's  eyes  ;  he 
strove  to  read  something  in  her  face,  which  might  spare 
him  the  pain  of  words  ;  but  it  was  a  strange  face  he  looked 
upon.  Not  that  of  the  black-eyed,  bright-cheeked  girl^  with 
the  proud  carriage  of  her  head  and  the  charming  scorn  of 
her  red  lip,  who  had  mocked,  fascinated,  and  bewildered 
him.  The  eyes  were  there,  but  they  had  sunk  into  the 
shade  of  the  brows,  and  looked  upon  him  with  an  im- 
penetrable expression ;  the  cheeks  were  pale,  the  mouth 
firm  and  rigid,  and  out  of  the  beauty  which  seduced  had 
grown  a  power  to  resist  and  command. 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Mary  ?  "  he  faltered. 

She  said  nothing,  but  moved  her  right  hand  slightly 
towards  him.  It  lay  in  his  own  a  moment,  cold  and 
passive. 

**  Mary  1 "  he  cried,  falling  on  his  knees  at  her  fee^  **  I  Vn 


THE  STORy   OF   KENNETT.  899 

B  ruined,  wretched  man  !  No  one  speaks  to  me  but  to 
curse  ;  I  've  no  friend  left  in  the  world  ;  the  very  farm* 
hand  leaves  me  !  I  don't  know  what  '11  become  of  me, 
unless  you  feel  a  little  pity  —  not  that  I  deserve  any,  but  I 
ask  it  of  you,  in  the  name  of  God ! " 

Martha  clung  to  Gilbert's  arm,  trembling,  and  more 
deeply  moved  than  she  was  willing  to  show.  Mary  Barton's 
face  was  convulsed  by  some  passing  struggle,  and  when  she 
spoke,  her  voice  was  hoarse  and  broken. 

"  You  know  what  it  is,  then,"  she  said,  "  to  be  disgraced 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  If  you  have  suffered  so  much  in 
these  two  weeks,  you  may  guess  what  I  have  borne  for 
twenty-five  years  ! " 

**  I  see  it  now,  Mary  '. "  he  cried,  "  as  I  never  saw  it  be- 
fore.    Try  me  !     Tell  me  what  to  do  1 " 

"  The  Lord  has  done  it,  already  ;  there  is  nothing  left-" 

He  groaned ;  his  head  dropped  hopelessly  unon  his 
breast 

Gilbert  felt  that  Martha's  agitation  ceased.  She  quietly 
released  her  hold  of  his  arm,  lifted  her  head,  and  spoke,  — 

"  Mother,  forgive  me  if  I  speak  when  I  should  hold  my 
peace  ;  I  would  only  remind  you  that  there  is  yet  one  thing 
left:.  It  is  true,  as  you  say  ;  the  Lord  has  justified  you  in 
His  own  way,  and  at  Ilis  own  time,  and  has  revenged  the 
wrong  done  to  you  by  branding  the  sin  committed  towards 
Himself.  Now  He  leaves  the  rest  to  your  own  heart 
Think  that  He  holds  back  and  waits  for  the  words  that 
shall  declare  whether  you  understand  the  spirit  in  which 
He  deals  towards  His  children  ! " 

"  Martha,  my  dear  child  ! "  Mary  Barton  exclaimed,  — 
^  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

**  It  is  not  for  me  to  advise  you,  mother.  You,  who  put 
my  impatient  pride  to  shame,  and  make  my  love  for  Gilbert 
seem  selfish  by  contrast  with  your  long  self-sacrifice  !  What 
right  have  I,  who  have  done  nothing,  to  speak  to  you,  who 
hare  done  so  much  that  we  never  can  reckon  it  ?    But, 


400  THE  STORY   OF  KENNl.TT. 

remember  that  in  the  Lord's  govern  men  t  of  the  -world 
pardon  follows  repentance,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  exact  like 
for  like,  to  the  uttermost  farthing  ! " 

Mary  Barton  sank  into  a  chair,  covered  her  face  wit'ij 
her  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 

There  were  tears  in  Martha's  eyes  ;  her  voice  trembled, 
aud  her  words  came  with  a  softness  and  tenderness  that 
soothed  while  they  pierced : 

"  Mother,  I  am  a  woman  like  yourself;  and,  as  a  woman, 
I  feel  the  terrible  wrong  that  has  been  done  to  you.  It 
may  be  as  hard  for  you  now  to  forget,  as  then  to  bear ;  but 
it  is  certainly  greater  and  nobler  to  forgive  than  to  await 
justice  !  Because  I  reverence  you  as  a  strong  and  pure 
and  great-hearted  woman  — because  I  want  to  see  the  last 
and  best  and  sweetest  grace  of  our  sex  added  to  your  name 
—  and  lastly,  for  Gilbert's  sake,  who  can  feel  nothing  buf 
pain  in  seeing  his  father  execrated  and  shimned  —  I  asJ 
your  forgiveness  for  your  husband  !  " 

"  Mary  !  "  Alfred  Barton  cried,  lifting  up  his  head  in  a 
last  appeal,  "  Mary,  this  much,  at  least !  Don't  go  to  the 
30urts  for  a  divorce  !  Don't  get  back  your  own  name  for 
yourself  and  Gilbert!  Keep  mine,  and  make  it  more  re 
spectable  for  me  !  And  I  won't  ask  you  to  pardon  me,  for 
I  see  you  can't ! " 

"  It  is  all  clear  to  me,  at  last !  "  said  Mary  Barton.  "  1 
thank  you,  Martha,  my  child,  for  putting  me  in  the  right 
path.  Alfred,  don't  kneel  to  me ;  if  the  Lord  can  pardon, 
who  am  I  that  I  should  be  imforgiving?  1  fear  me  I  was 
nigh  to  forfeit  His  mercy.  Gilbert,  youi-s  was  half  the 
shame  ;  yours  is  half  the  wrong  ;  can  you  join  me  in  par- 
doning your  father  and  my  husband  ?  " 

Gilbert  was  powerfully  moved  by  the  conflict  of  equally 
balanced  ^motions,  and  but  for  the  indication  which  Marths" 
had  given,  he  might  not  at  once  have  been  able  to  decide. 
But  it  seemed  now  that  his  course  was  also  clear.  He 
said, — 


THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT.  401 

"Mother,  since  you  have  asked  the  question,  1  know 
how  it  should  be  answered.  If  you  forgive  your  husband, 
I  forgive  my  —  my  father." 

He  stepped  forward,  seized  Alfred  Barton  gently  by  the 
shoulder,  and  raised  him  to  his  feet.  Mary  Barton  then 
took  her  husband's  hand  in  hers,  and  said,  in  a  solemn 
voice.  — 

"  I  forgive  you,  Alfred,  and  will  try  to  forget  I  know 
not  what  you  may  have  heard  said,  but  I  never  meant  to 
go  before  the  court  for  a  divorce.  Your  name  is  a  part  of 
my  right,  a  part  of  Gilbert's  —  our  son's  —  right ;  it  is  true 
that  you  have  debased  the  name,  but  we  will  keep  it  and 
make  it  honorable !  We  will  not  do  that  to  the  name  of 
Barton  which  you  have  done  to  the  nan)e  of  Potter ! " 

It  was  very  evident  that  though  she  had  forgiven,  she 
had  not  yet  forgotten.  The  settled  endurance  of  years 
could  not  be  unlearned  in  a  moment.  Alfred  Barton  felt 
that  her  forgiveness  implied  no  returning  tenderness,  not 
even  an  increase  of  respect ;  but  it  was  more  than  he  had 
dared  to  hope,  and  he  felt  humbly  grateful.  He  saw  thai 
a  consideration  for  Gilbert's  position  had  been  the  chief 
element  to  which  he  owed  his  wife's  relenting  mood,  and 
this  knowledge  was  perhaps  his  greatest  encouragement. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  '*you  are  kinder  than  I  deserve.  I 
wish  I  could  make  you  and  Gilbert  understand  all  that 
I  have  felt.  Don't  think  my  place  was  easy ;  it  was  n't 
It  was  a  hell  of  another  kind.  I  have  been  punished  in 
my  way,  and  will  be  now  to  the  end  o'  my  life,  while  you 
two  will  be  looked  up  to,  and  respected  beyond  any  in  the 
neighborhood ;  and  if  I  'm  not  treated  like  a  dog,  it  '11  only 
l>e  for  your  sakes !  WHl  you  let  me  say  to  the  people  that 
you  have  pardoned  me?     Will  you  say  it  yourselves?" 

Martha,  and  perhaps  Gilbert  also,  felt  that  it  was  the 
reflected  image  of  Alfred  Barton's  meanness,  as  it  came 
back  to  him  in  the  treatment  he  had  experienced,  rather 
than  his  own  internal  consciousness  of  it,  which  occasioned 


M^  THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT. 

his  misery.  But  his  words  were  true  thus  fer ;  his  life  wat 
branded  by  it,  and  the  pardon  of  those  he  had  wronged 
could  not  make  that  life  more  than  tolerable. 

"  Why  not .'' "  said  Gilbert,  replying  to  him.  •'  There  has 
been  enough  of  secrets.  '  1  am  not  ashamed  of  forgive- 
ness —  my  shame  is,  that  forgiveness  is  necessary." 

Alfred  Barton  looked  from  mother  to  son  with  a  singular, 
wistful  expression.  He  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  speak 
or  how  to  select  his  words.  His  vain,  arrogant  spirit  was 
completely  broken,  but  no  finer  moral  instinct  came  in  its 
place  to  guide  him  ;  his  impulses  were  still  coarse,  and  took, 
from  habit,  the  selfish  color  of  his  nature.  There  are  some 
persons  whom  even  humiliation  clothes  with  a  certain  dig- 
nity ;  but  he  was  not  one  of  them.  There  are  others 
whose  tact,  in  such  emergencies,  assumes  the  features  of 
principle,  and  sets  up  a  feeble  claim  to  respect ;  but  this 
quality  is  a  result  of  culture,  which  he  did  not  possess.  He 
simply  saw  what  would  relieve  him  from  the  insupportable 
load  of  obloquy  under  which  he  groaned,  and  awkwardly 
hazarded  the  pity  he  had  excited,  in  asking  for  it 

"  Mary,"  he  stammered,  "1  —  I  hardly  know  how  to  say 
the  words,  but  you  '11  understand  me ;  I  want  to  make  good 
to  you  all  the  wrong  I  did,  and  there  seems  no  way  but 
this,  —  if  you  '11  let  me  care  for  you,  slave  for  you,  anything 
you  please ;  you  shall  have  your  own  say  in  house  and 
farm ;  Ann  '11  give  up  everything  to  you.  She  always  liked 
you,  she  says,  and  she 's  lonely  since  th'  old  man  died  and 
nobody  comes  near  us  —  not  just  at  once,  I  mean,  but  after 
awhile,  when  you  've  had  time  to  think  of  it,  and  Gilbert 's 
married.  You  're  independent  in  your  own  right,  I  know, 
and  need  n't  do  it ;  but,  see !  it  'd  give  me  a  chance,  and 
maybe  Gilbert  would  n't  feel  quite  so  hard  towards  me, 
and"  — 

He  stopped,  chilled  by  the  increasing  coldness  of  his 
wife's  face.  She  did  not  immediately  reply ;  to  Martha's 
eye  she  seemed  to  be  battling  with  some  proud,  vindictivt 
instinct.     But  she  spoke  at  last,  and  calmly : 


THE   STORY   OF   KENNETT.  408 

•Alfred,  you  should  not  have  gone  so  far.  I  have  par- 
doned you.  and  that  means  more  than  the  words.  It  means 
that  I  must  try  to  overcome  the  bitterness  of  my  recollec- 
tions, that  I  must  curb  the  tongues  of  others  when  they  are 
raised  against  you,  must  greet  you  when  we  meet,  and  in 
all  proper  ways  show  the  truth  of  my  forgiveness  to  the 
world.  Anger  and  reproach  may  be  taken  from  the  heart, 
and  yet  love  be  as  far  off  as  ever.  If  anything  ever  could 
load  me  back  to  you  it  would  not  be  love,  but  duty  to  my 
son,  and  his  desire ;  but  I  cannot  see  the  duty  now.  I  may 
never  see  it.  Do  not  propose  this  thing  again.  I  will  only 
say,  if  it  be  any  comfort  to  you,  that  if  you  try  to  show 
your  repentance  as  I  my  pardon,  try  to  clean  your  name 
from  the  stain  you  have  cast  upon  it,  my  respect  shall  keep 
pace  with  that  of  your  neighbors,  and  I  shall  in  this  way, 
and  in  no  other,  be  drawn  nearer  to  you ! " 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Alfred  Barton,  "  I  never  knew  your 
mother  before  to-day.  What  she  says  gives  me  some  hope, 
and  yet  it  makes  me  afraid.  I  '11  try  to  bring  her  nearer,  I 
will,  indeed ;  but  I  've  been  governed  so  long  by  th'  old 
man  that  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  right  strength  o'  my 
own.  I  must  have  some  help,  and  you  're  the  only  one  I 
can  ask  it  of;  will  you  come  and  see  me  sometimes  ?  I  've 
been  so  proud  of  you,  all  to  myself,  my  boy !  and  if  I 
thought  you  could  once  call  me  '  father '  before  I  die  "  — 

Gilbert  was  not  proof  against  these  words  and  the 
honest  tears  by  which  they  were  accompanied.  Many  shj>, 
hesitating  tokens  of  affection  in  his  former  intercourse  with 
Alfred  Barton,  suddenly  recurred  to  his  mind,  with  their 
irue  interpretation.  His  load  had  been  light,  compared  to 
his  mother's ;  he  had  only  learned  the  true  wrong  in  the 
hour  of  reparation  ;  and  moreover,  in  assuming  his  father's 
name  he  became  sensitive  to  the  prominence  of  its  shame. 

"  Father,"  he  answered,  "  if  you  have  forfeited  a  son's 
obedience,  you  have  still  a  man's  claim  to  be  helped 
Mother  is  right ;  it  is  in  your  power  to  come  nearer  to  ua 


404  THE  STORY  OF   KENNETT. 

She  must  stand  aside  and  wait ;  but  I  can  cross  the  line 
which  separates  you,  and  from  this  time  on  I  shall  nevei 
cross  it  to  remind  you  of  what  is  past  and  pardoned,  but  te 
help  you,  and  all  of  us,  to  forget  it ! " 

Martha  laid  her  hand  upon  Gilbert's  shoulder,  leaned  up 
and  kissed  him  upon  the  cheek. 

"  Rest  here  ! "  she  said.  "  Let  a  good  word  close  the 
subject !  Gilbert,  take  your  father  out  and  show  him  your 
farm.  Mother,  it  is  near  dinner-time  ;  I  will  help  you  set 
the  table.  After  dinner,  Mr.  Barton,  you  and  I  will  ride 
home  together." 

Her  words  were  obeyed ;  each  one  felt  that  no  more 
should  be  said  at  that  time.  Gilbert  showed  the  barn,  the 
stables,  the  cattle  in  the  meadow,  and  the  fields  rejoicing 
in  the  soft  May  weather ;  Martha  busied  herself  in  kitchen 
and  cellar,  filling  up  the  pauses  of  her  labor  with  cheerful 
talk ;  and  when  the  four  met  at  the  table,  so  nuich  of  the 
constraint  in  their  relation  to  each  other  had  been  conquered, 
that  a  stranger  would  never  have  dreamed  of  the  gulf  which 
had  separated  them  a  few  hours  before.  Martha  shrewdly 
judged  that  when  Alfred  Barton  had  eaten  at  his  wife's 
table,  they  would  both  meet  more  easily  in  the  future.  She 
did  not  expect  that  the  breach  could  ever  be  quite  filled ; 
but  she  wished,  for  Gilbert's  sake,  to  make  it  as  narrow  as 
possible. 

After  dinner,  while  the  horses  were  being  saddled,  the 
lovers  walked  down  the  garden-path,  between  the  borders 
of  blue  iris  and  mountain-pink. 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Martha,  "  are  you  satisfied  with  what  has 
happened  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered, "  but  it  has  shown  to  me  that  some- 
thing more  must  be  done." 

"What?" 

"  Martha,  are  these  the  oniy  two  who  should  be  brought 
nearer  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  face.     There  was  a 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  -^Ofi 

laughing  light  in  his  eyes,  which  brought  a  new  lustre  to 
hers,  and  a  dehcate  bkish  to  her  fair  cheeks. 

"  Is  it  not  too  soon  for  me  to  come  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  You  have  come,"  he  answered ;  "  you  were  in  your 
place;  and  \*.  will  be  empty  —  the  house  will  be  lonely, 
the  farm  witliou^  its  mistress  —  until  you  return  to 
Ml" 


406  TH£  STOKY   OF  KENNfiTT. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE    WEDDING. 

The  neighborhood  had  decreed  it.  There  was  but  on* 
just,  proper,  and  satisfactory  conchision  to  all  these  events. 
The  decision  of  Kennett  was  unanimous  that  its  story 
should  be  speedily  completed.  New-Garden,  Marlborough, 
and  Pennsbury,  so  far  as  heard  from,  gave  their  hearty 
consent;  and  the  people  would  have  been  seriously  dis- 
appointed —  the  tide  of  sympathy  might  even  have  been 
checked  —  had  not  Gilbert  Barton  and  Martha  Deane  pre- 
pared to  fulfil  the  parts  assigned  to  them. 

Dr.  Deane,  of  course,  floated  with  the  current.  He  was 
too  shrewd  to  stand  forth  as  a  conspicuous  obstacle  to  the 
consummation  of  the  popular  sense  of  justice.  He  gave, 
at  once,  his  full  consent  to  the  nuptials,  and  took  the  neces- 
sary steps,  in  advance,  for  the  transfer  of  his  daughter's 
fortune  into  her  own  hands.  In  short,  as  Miss  Lavender 
observed,  there  was  an  end  of  snarls.  The  lives  of  the 
lovers  were  taken  up,  as  by  a  skilful  hand,  and  evenly 
reeled  together. 

Gilbert  now  might  have  satisfied  his  ambition  (and  the 
people,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  would 
have  sanctioned  it)  by  buying  the  finest  farm  in  the  neigh 
borhood  ;  but  Martha  had  said,  — 

"  No  other  farm  can  be  so  much  yours,  and  none  so  wel- 
come a  home  to  me.  Let  us  be  satisfied  with  it,  at  least 
for  the  first  years." 

And  therein  she  spoke  wisely. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  May,  and  the  land  was  clothed 


THE  STOBT  OF  K£NN£TT.  107 

in  tender  green,  and  filled  with  the  sweet  breath  of  si^ 
and  bud  and  blossom.  The  vivid  emerald  of  the  willow- 
trees,  the  bhish  of  orchards,  and  the  cones  of  snowy  bloonk 
along  the  wood-sides,  shone  through  and  illumined  even 
the  days  of  rain.  The  Month  of  Marriage  wooed  them  iE 
every  sunny  morning,  in  every  twilight  fading  under  the 
torch  of  the  lovers'  star. 

In  spite  of  JSIiss  Lavender's  outcries,  and  Martha's  grave 
doubts,  a  fortnight's  delay  was  all  that  Gilbert  would  allow. 
He  would  have  dispensed  with  bridal  costumes  and  merry- 
makings,—  so  little  do  men  understand  of  these  matters; 
but  he  was  hooted  down,  overruled,  ignored,  and  made  to 
feel  his  proper  insignificance.  Martha  almost  disappeared 
fix)ra  his  sight  during  the  interval.  She  was  sitting  up- 
stairs in  a  confusion  of  lutestring,  whalebone,  silk,  and  cani- 
bric ;  and  when  she  came  down  to  him  for  a  moment,  the 
kiss  had  scarcely  left  her  lips  before  she  began  to  speak  oi 
the  make  of  his  new  coat,  and  the  fashion  of  the  articles 
he  was  still  expected  to  furnish. 

If  he  visited  Fairthom's,  it  was  even  worse.  The  sight 
of  him  threw  Sally  into  such  a  flutter  that  she  sewed  the 
right  side  of  one  breadth  to  the  wrong  side  of  another,  at- 
tempted to  clear-starch  a  woollen  stocking,  or  even,  on  one 
occasion,  put  a  fowl  into  the  pot,  unpicked  and  undressed. 
It  was  known  all  over  the  country  that  Sally  and  Mark 
Deane  were  to  be  bridesmaid  and  groomsman,  and  they 
both  determined  to  make  a  brave  appearance. 

But  there  was  another  feature  of  the  coming  nuptials 
which  the  people  did  not  know.  Gilbert  and  Martha  had 
determined  that  Miss  Betsy  Lavender  should  be  second 
bridesmaid,  and  Martha  had  sent  to  Wilmington  for  a  pur- 
ple silk,  and  a  stomacher  of  the  finest  cambric,  in  which  to 
array  her.  A  groomsman  of  her  age  was  not  so  easy  to 
find ;  but  young  Pratt,  who  had  stood  so  faithfully  by  Gil- 
bert during  the  chase  of  Sandy  Flash,  merrily  avowed  his 
willingness  to  play  the  part ;  and  so  it  was  settled  without 
Miss  Lavender's  knowledge. 


4M  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

The  appointed  morning  came,  bringing  a  fair  sky,  mot 
tied  with  gentle,  lingering  clouds,  and  a  light  wind  from 
the  west  The  wedding  company  were  to  meet  at  Kennett 
Square,  and  then  ride  to  Squire  Sinclair's,  where  the  ceie- 
mony  would  be  performed  by  that  magistrate  ;  and  before 
ten  o'clock,  the  hour  appointed  for  starting,  all  the  sut 
rounding  neighborhood  poured  into  the  village.  The 
hitching-bar  in  front  of  the  Unicorn,  and  every  post  of 
fence  or  garden-paliRg,  was  occupied  by  the  tethered 
horses.  The  wedding-guests,  comprising  some  ten  or  fif- 
teen persons,  assembled  at  Dr.  Deane's,  and  each  couple, 
as  they  arrived,  produced  an  increasing  excitement  among 
the  spectators. 

The  fact  that  Alfred  Barton  had  been  formally  pardoned 
by  his  wife  and  son,  did  not  lessen  the  feeling  with  which 
he  was  regarded,  but  it  produced  a  certain  amount  of  for- 
bearance. The  people  were  curious  to  know  whether  he 
had  been  bidden  to  the  wedding,  and  the  conviction  was 
general  that  he  had  no  business  to  be  there.  The  truth  is, 
it  had  been  left  free  to  him  whether  to  come  or  not,  and  he 
had  very  prudently  chosen  to  be  absent. 

Dr.  Deane  had  set  up  a  "  chair,"  which  was  to  be  used 
for  the  first  time  on  this  occasion.  It  was  a  ponderous 
machine,  with  drab  body  and  wheels,  and  curtains  of  drab 
camlet  looped  up  imder  its  stately  canopy.  When  it  ap- 
peared at  the  gate,  the  Doctor  came  forth,  spotless  in  attire, 
bland,  smiling,  a  figure  of  sober  gloss  and  agreeable  odors. 
He  led  Mary  Barton  by  the  hand  ;  and  her  steel-colored 
silk  and  white  crape  shawl  so  well  harmonized  with  his 
appearance,  that  the  two  might  have  been  taken  for  man 
and  wife.  Her  face  was  calm,  serene,  and  full  of  quiet 
gratitude.  They  took  their  places  in  the  chair,  the  lines 
were  handed  to  the  Doctor,  and  he  drove  away,  nodding 
right  and  left  to  the  crowd. 

Now  the  horses  were  brought  up  in  pairs,  and  thf" 
yoimger  guests  began  to  moimt.     The  people  gathered 


THE  STCkY  OF  KENNETT.  40$ 

closer  and  ooser ;  and  when  Sam  appeared,  leading  tbe 
well-known  and  beloved  Roger,  there  was  a  murmur  which, 
in  a  more  demonstrative  communit}'.  would  have  been  a 
cheer.  Somebody  had  arranged  a  wreath  of  lilac  and 
snowy  viburnum,  and  fastened  it  aroxmd  Roger's  forehead 
and  he  seemed  to  wear  it  consciously  and  proudly.  Manj 
a  hand  was  stretched  forth  to  pat  and  stroke  the  noble  ani- 
mal, and  everybody  smiled  when  he  laid  his  head  caress* 
ingly  over  the  neck  of  Martha's  gray. 

Finally,  only  six  horses  remained  unmounted ;  then 
there  seemed  to  be  a  little  delay  in-doors.  It  was  ex- 
plained when  young  Pratt  appeared,  bold  and  bright,  lead- 
ing the  reluctant  iliss  Lavender,  rustling  in  purple  splen- 
dor, and  blushing  —  actually  blushing  —  as  she  encountered 
the  eyes  of  the  crowd-  The  latter  were  delighted.  There 
was  no  irony  in  the  voice  that  cried,  —  "  Hurrah  for  Betsy 
Lavender !  "  and  the  cheer  that  followed  was  the  expression 
of  a  downright,  hearty  good  will.  She  looked  around  from 
her  saddle,  blushing,  smiling,  and  on  the  point  of  biu^ting 
into  tears ;  and  it  was  a  godsend,  as  she  afterwards  re- 
marked, that  Mark  Deane  and  Sally  Fairthorn  appeared  at 
that  moment 

Mark,  in  sky-blue  coat  and  breeches,  suggested,  with  bis 
rosy  face  and  yellow  locks,  a  son  of  the  morning ;  while 
Sally's  white  muslin  and  cherry-colored  scarf  heightened 
the  rich  beauty  of  her  dark  hair  and  eyes,  and  her  full, 
pouting  lips.  They  were  a  buxom  pair,  and  both  were  t>K) 
happy  in  each  other  and  in  the  occasion,  to  conceal  the 
least  expression  of  it. 

There  now  only  remained  our  hero  and  heroine,  who  im- 
mediately followed.  No  cheer  greeted  them,  for  the  won- 
derful chain  of  circumstances  which  had  finally  brought 
them  together,  made  the  joy  of  the  day  solemn,  and  the 
sympathy  of  the  people  reverential.  Mark  and  Sally  rep« 
resented  the  delight  of  betrothal ;  these  two  the  earnest 
nnctity  of  wedlock 


ilO  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

Gilbert  was  plainly  yet  richly  dressed  in  a  bottle-gre«i 
coat,  with  white  waistcoat  and  breeches  ;  his  ruffles,  gloves, 
hat,  and  boots  were  irreproachable.  So  manly  looking  a 
bridegroom  had  not  been  seen  in  Kennett  for  many  a  day. 
Martha's  dress  of  heavy  pearl-gray  satin  was  looped  up 
over  a  petticoat  of  white  dimity,  and  she  wore  a  short  cloak 
of  white  crape.  Her  hat,  of  the  latest  style,  was  adorned 
with  a  bunch  of  roses  and  a  white,  drooping  feather.  In 
the  saddle,  she  was  charming  ;  and  as  the  bridal  pair  slowly 
rode  forward,  followed  by  their  attendants  in  the  propei 
order,  a  murmur  of  admiration,  in  which  there  was  no  envy 
and  no  ill-natured  qualification,  went  after  them. 

A  soft  glitter  of  sunshine,  crossed  by  the  shadows  of 
slow-moving  clouds,  lay  upon  the  landscape.  Westward, 
the  valley  opened  in  quiet  beauty,  the  wooded  hills  on 
either  side  sheltering,  like  protecting  arms,  the  white  farm- 
houses, the  gardens,  and  rosy  orchards  scattered  along  its 
floor.  On  their  left,  the  tall  grove  rang  with  the  music  of 
birds,  and  was  gay,  through  all  its  light-green  depths,  with 
the  pink  blossoms  of  the  wild  azalea.  The  hedges,  on 
either  side,  were  purple  with  yoimg  sprays,  and  a  bright, 
breathing  mass  of  sweet-brier  and  wild  grape  crowned  the 
overhanging  banks,  between  which  the  road  ascended  the 
hill  beyond. 

At  first  the  company  were  silent ;  but  the  enlivening 
motion  of  the  horses,  the  joy  of  the  coming  summer,  the 
affectionate  sympathy  of  Nature,  soon  disposed  them  to  a 
lighter  mood.  At  Hallowell's,  the  men  left  their  hoes  in 
the  corn-field,  and  the  women  their  household  duties,  to 
greet  them  by  the  roadside.  Mark  looked  up  at  the  new 
bam,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Not  quite  a  year  ago  !     Do  you  mind  it,  Gilbert  ?  " 

Martha  pointed  to  the  green  turf  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  said  with  an  arch  voice,  — 

"  Gilb^^rt,  do  you  remeniber  the  q  lestion  you  put  to  m^ 
that  evening  ?  " 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT.  411 

And  finally  Sally  burst  out,  in  mock  indignation,   — 

**  Gilbert,  there  's  where  you  snapped  me  up,  because  1 
iranted  you  to  dance  with  Martha ;  what  do  you  think  of 
yourself  now  ?  " 

**  You  all  forget,"  he  answered,  "  that  you  au:«  speaking 
erf  somebody  else." 

"  How  ?  somebody  else  ?  "  asked  Sally. 

«  Yes  ;  I  mean  Gilbert  Potter." 

**  Not  a  bad  turn-off,"  remarked  Miss  Lavender.  "  He  *8 
too  much  for  you.  But  I  'm  glad,  anyhow,  you  've  got 
your  tongues,  for  it  was  too  much  like  a  buryin'  before,  and 
me  fixed  up  like  King  Solomon,  what  for,  I  'd  like  to 
know  ?  and  the  day  made  o'  purpose  for  a  weddin',  an  1 
«rue-love  all  right  for  once't  —  I  'd  like  just  to  holler  anc 
sing  and  make  merry  to  my  heart's  content,  with  a  nice 
young  man  alongside  o'  me,  too,  a  thing  that  don't  oflen 
happen  ! " 

They  were  heartily,  but  not  boisterously,  merry  after 
this ;  but  as  they  reached  the  New- Garden  road,  there 
came  a  wild  yell  from  the  rear,  and  the  noise  of  galloping 
hoofs.  Before  the  first  shock  of  surprise  had  subsided,  the 
Fairthorn  gray  mare  thundered  up,  with  Joe  and  Jake  upon 
her  back,  the  scarlet  lining  of  their  blue  cloaks  flying  to 
the  wind,  their  breeches  covered  with  white  hair  from  the 
mare's  hide,  and  their  faces  wild  with  delight.  They  yelled 
again  as  they  drew  rein  at  the  head  of  the  procession. 

"  Why,  what  upon  earth  "  —  began  Sally ;  but  Joe  saved 
her  the  necessity  of  a  question. 

"  Daddy  said  we  should  n't  go !  "  he  cried.  "  But  we 
icoudd,  —  we  got  Bonnie  out  o'  the  field,  and  put  off! 
Cousin  Martha,  you  '11  let  us  go  along  and  see  you  get 
married ;  won't  you,  now  ?  Maybe  we  '11  never  have 
another  chance ! " 

This  incident  produced  great  amusement  The  boys 
received  the  permission  they  coveted,  but  were  ordered  to 
the  rear  Mark  reminding  them  that  as  he  was  soon  to  be 


tlS  THE  STORY   OF  KENNETT. 

their  unc.e,  they  must  learn,  betimes,  to  ^ve  lieed  to  Ui 
authority. 

"  Be  quiet,  Mark  !  *'  exclaimed  Sally,  with  a  gentle  slap. 

"  Well,  I  don't  begrudge  it  to  'em,"  said  Miss  Lavender. 
"  It 's  somethin'  for  'em  to  remember  when  they  're  men* 
grown  ;  and  they  belong  to  the  fam'ly,  which  I  don't ;  but 
never  mind,  all  the  same,  no  more  do  you,  Mr.  Pratt ;  and 
I  wish  I  was  younger,  to  do  credit  to  you !  " 

Merrily  trotted  the  horses  along  the  bit  of  level  upland ; 
and  then,  as  the  land  began  to  fall  towards  the  western 
branch  of  Redley  Creek,  they  saw  the  Squire's  house  on  a 
^reen  knoll  to  the  north,  and  Dr.  Deane's  new  chair  already 
resting  in  the  shade  of  the  gigantic  sycamore  at  the  door. 
The  lane-gates  were  open,  the  Squire's  parlor  was  arranged 
for  their  reception  ;  and  after  the  ladies  had  put  themselves 
to  rights,  in  the  upper  rooms,  the  company  gathered  to- 
gether for  the  ceremony. 

Sunshine,  and  hum  of  bees,  and  murmur  of  winds,  and 
scent  of  flowers,  came  in  through  the  open  windows,  and 
the  bridal  pair  seemed  to  stand  in  the  heart  of  the  perfect 
spring-time.  Yet  tears  were  shed  by  all  the  women  except 
the  bride ;  and  Sally  Fairthorn  was  so  absorbed  by  the 
rush  of  her  emotions,  that  she  came  within  an  ace  of  say- 
ing "  I  will ! "  when  the  Squire  put  the  question  to  Martha. 
The  ceremony  was  brief  and  plain,  but  the  previous  his- 
tory of  the  parties  made  it  very  inipressfve.  When  they 
had  been  pronounced  man  and  wife,  and  the  certificate  of 
marriage  had  been  duly  signed  and  witnessed  by  all  pres* 
ent,  Mary  Barton  stepped  forward  and  kissed  her  son  and 
daughter  with  a  solemn  tenderness.  Then  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  all  the  others  broke  loose,  and  the  amount  of 
embracing  which  followed  was  something  quite  unusual  for 
Kennett.  Betsy  Lavender  was  not  cheated  out  of  her  due 
share ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  ever  afterwards  reported 
that  she  received  more  salutes  than  even  the  bride.  She 
iras  kissed  by  Gilbert,  by  Mark,  by  her  young  partner,  bj 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNEIT.  418 

Dr.  Deane,  and  lastly  by  the  jolly  Squire  himself,  —  to  saj 
nothing  of  the  feminine  kisses,  which,  indeed,  being  \er\ 
imperfect  gifts,  hardly  deserve  to  be  recorded. 

**  Well !  "  she  exclaimed,  pushing  her  ruffled  hair  behind 
her  ears,  and  smoothing  down  her  purple  skirt,  "  to  think 
o'  my  bein'  kissed  by  so  many  men,  in  my  old  days !  — 
but  why  not  ?  —  it  may  be  my  last  chance,  as  Joe  Fair- 
thoin  says,  and  laugh  if  you  please,  I  've  got  the  best  of 
it  ;  and  I  don't  belie  my  natur',  for  twistin'  your  head  away 
and  screechin'  is  only  make-believe,  and  the  more  some 
screeches  the  more  they  want  to  be  kissed  ;  but  f;ur  and 
square,  say  I,  —  if  you  want  it  take  it,  and  that 's  just 
what  I  've  done  !  " 

There  was  a  fresh  rush  for  Miss  Lavender  after  this, 
and  she  stood  her  ground  with  commendable  patience, 
until  Mark  ventured  to  fold  her  in  a  good-natured  hug, 
when  she  pushed  him  away,  saying, — 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  spile  my  new  things  ! 
There  —  go  'way,  now !  I  've  had  enough  to  last  me 
ten  year ! " 

Dr.  Deane  soon  set  out  with  Mary  Barton,  in  the  chair, 
and  the  rest  of  the  company  mounted  their  horses,  to  ride 
back  to  Kennett  Square  by  the  other  road,  past  the  quar- 
ries and  across  Tuffkenamon. 

As  they  halted  in  the  broad,  shallow  bed  of  the  creek, 
letting  their  horses  drink  from  the  sparkling  water,  while 
the  wind  rollicked  among  the  meadow  bloom  of  golden 
saxifrage  and  scarlet  painted -cup  and  blue  spiderworl 
before  them,  the  only  accident  of  the  day  occurred ;  but 
it  was  not  of  a  character  to  disturb  their  joyous  mood. 

The  old  Fairthorn  mare  stretched  her  neck  to  its  ut- 
most length  before  she  bent  it  to  drink,  obliging  Joe  to 
lean  forwards  over  her  shoulder,  to  retain  his  hold  of  the 
short  rein.  Jake,  holding  on  to  Joe,  leaned  with  him,  and 
they  waited  in  this  painful  posture  till  the  mare  slowly 
filled  herself  from  the  stream.     Finally  she  seemed  to  be 


414  THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT. 

satisfied ;  she  paused,  snorted,  and  then,  with  wide  uostrila 
drank  an  equal  amount  of  air.  Her  old  sides  swelled 
the  saddle-girth,  broken  in  two  places  long  before,  and 
mended  with  tow-strings,  suddenly  parted,  and  Joe,  Jake, 
saddle  and  all,  tumbled  down  her  neck  into  the  water. 
They  scrambled  out  in  a  lamentable  plight,  soused  and 
dripping,  amid  the  endless  laughter  of  the  company,  and 
were  glad  to  keep  to  the  rear  for  the  remainder  of  the 
ride. 

In  Dr.  Deaue's  house,  meanwhile,  there  were  great  prep 
arations  for  the  wedding-dinner.  A  cook  had  been  brought 
from  Wilmington,  at  an  unheard-of  expense,  and  the  village 
was  filled  with  rumors  of  the  marvellous  dishes  she  was  to 
produce.  There  were  pippins  encased  in  orange-peel  and 
baked ;  a  roasted  peacock,  with  tail  spread  ;  a  stuffed  rock- 
fish  ;  a  whole  ham  enveloped  in  dough,  like  a  loaf  of  bread, 
and  set  in  the  oven  ;  and  a  wilderness  of  the  richest  and 
rarest  pies,  tarts,  and  custards. 

Whether  all  these  rumors  were  justified  by  the  dinner, 
we  will  not  undertake  to  say  ;  it  is  certain  that  the  meal, 
which  was  spread  in  the  large  sitting-room,  was  most  boun- 
tiful. No  one  was  then  shocked  by  the  decanters  of  Port 
and  Canary  wine  upon  the  sideboard,  or  refused  to  par- 
take of  the  glasses  of  foamy  egg-nog  offered  to  them  from 
time  to  time,  through  the  afternoon.  The  bride-cake  was 
considered  a  miracle  of  art,  and  the  fact  that  Martha  di- 
vided it  with  a  steady  hand,  niaking  the  neatest  and  clean- 
est of  cuts,  was  considered  a  good  omen  for  her  married 
life.  Bits  of  the  cake  were  afterwards  in  great  demand 
throughout  the  neighborhood,  not  so  much  to  eat,  as  to 
dream  upon. 

The  afternoon  passed  away  rapidly,  with  mirth  and 
noise,  in  the  adjoining  parlor.  Sally  Fairthom  found  a 
peculiar  pleasure  in  calling  her  friend  "  Martha  Barton .  * 
whereupon  Mark  said,  — 

^  Wait  a  bit,  M  artha,  and  you  can  pay  her  back.    Daddj 


THE  STORY   OF   KENNETT  415 

Fairtliorn  promised  this  morning  to  give  me  a  buildin' 
lot  off  the  field  back  o'  the  comei'.  and  just  as  soon  as 
Rudd's  house  is  up,  I  'm  goin'  to  work  at  mine." 

"  Mark,  do  hush  ! "  Sally  exclaimed,  reddening,  "  and 
before  everybody ! " 

Miss  Lavender  sat  in  the  midst,  stately,  purple,  and  so 
transformed  that  she  professed  she  no  longer  knew  her 
own  self  She  was,  nevertheless,  the  life  of  the  company 
the  sense  of  what  she  had  done  to  bring  on  the  marriage 
was  a  continual  source  of  inspiration.  Therefore,  when 
songs  were  proposed  and  sung,  and  Mark  finally  called 
upon  her,  uproariously  seconded  by  all  the  rest,  she  was 
moved,  for  the  last  time  in  her  life,  to  comply. 

"  I  dunno  what  you  mean,  expectin'  such  a  thing  o'  me," 
she  said.  "  'Pears  to  me  I  'm  fool  enough  already,  settin' 
here  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  like  the  Queen  o'  Rome, — 
not  that  I  don't  like  singin',  but  the  contrary,  quite  the 
reverse ;  but  with  me  it  'd  be  a  squawk  and  nothin'  else ; 
and  fine  feathers  may  make  fine  birds  for  what  I  care, 
more  like  a  poll-parrot  than  a  nightingale,  and  they  say 
jott  must  stick  thorns  into  'em  to  make  'em  sing ;  but  I 
gruess  it  '11  be  t'  other  way,  and  my  singin'  '11  stick  thorns 
into  you ! " 

They  would  take  no  denial ;  she  could  and  must  sing 
them  a  song.  Sht  held  out  until  Martha  said,  "for  my 
wedding-day,  Betsy  !  "  and  Gilbert  added,  "  and  mine,  too." 
Then  she  declared,  "  Well,  if  I  must,  I  s'pose  I  must 
But  as  for  weddin '-songs,  such  as  I  've  heerd  in  my  younger 
days,  I  dunno  one  of  'em,  and  my  head  's  pretty  much 
cleared  o'  such  things,  savin'  and  exceptin'  one  that  might 
be  a  sort  o'  warnin'  for  ^lark  Deane,  who  knows  ?  —  not 
that  there  's  sea-farin'  men  about  these  parts;  but  never 
mind,  all  the  same ;  if  you  don't  like  it,  Mark,  you  've  brung 
it  onto  yourself! " 

Thereupon,  after  shaking  herself,  gravely  composing  her 
&ce.  and  clearing  her  throat,  she  began,  in  a  high,  shrill. 


416  THE  STORY  OF   kENNETT. 

piercing  voice,  rocking  her  head  to  the  peculiar  lilt  of  tbe 
words,  and  interpolating  short  explanatory  remarks,  to 
sing  — 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  HOUSE-CARPENTER. 

"'  Well-met,  well-met,  my  own  true-love  1  * 
•'She  says,  — 

'  Well-met,  well-met,  cried  he ; 
For  't  is  I  have  returned  from  the  salt,  salt  sea. 
And  it 's  all  for  the  love  of  thee ! ' 

"' It 's  I  might  ha'  married  a  king's  daughter  fair,* 
**/fe  goes  on  sayin',  — 

'  And  fain  would  she  ha'  married  me. 
But  it 's  I  have  refused  those  crowns  of  gold. 
And  it 's  all  for  the  love  of  thee ! ' 

«Then  she,— 

" '  If  you  might  ha'  married  a  king's  daughter  fair,' 
I  think  you  are  for  to  blame ; 
For  it  's  1  have  maiTied  a  house-carpentfer. 
And  I  think  he  's  a  fine  young  man !  ' 

"  So  look  out,  Mark !  and  remember,  all  o'  you,  that  they  >• 
talkin'  turn  about ;  and  he  begins  — 

"'If  you  '11  forsake  your  house-carpent6r 
And  go  along  with  me, 
I  '11  take  you  to  where  the  grass  grows  green 
On  the  banks  of  the  sweet  Wil-lee ! ' 

"  'If  I  forsake  my  house-carpenter. 
And  go  along  with  thee, 
It 's  what  have  you  got  for  to  maintain  me  npOfe, 
And  to  keep  me  from  slave-ree  ?  ' 

•*   It 's  I  have  sixteen  ships  at  sea, 
All  sailing  for  dry  land, 
And  four-and-twenty  sailors  all  on  board 
Shall  be  at  your  command ! ' 

*•  Slie  then  took  up  her  lovely  little  babe, 
And  she  gave  it  kisses  three ; 
*  Lie  still,  lie  still,  my  lovely  little  baba. 
And  keep  thy  fath  :r  cotrra-neel  * 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNETT.  417 

'  She  dressed  herself  in  rich  array, 

And  she  walked  in  high  degree, 
And  the  four-and-twenty  sailors  took  'em  on  board. 
And  they  sailed  for  the  open  sea ! 

"  They  had  not  been  at  sea  two  weeks, 
And  I  'm  sure  it  was  not  three. 
Before  this  maid  she  began  tor  to  weep^ 
And  she  wept  most  bitter-lee. 

"'  It 's  do  you  weep  for  your  gold? '  cries  he; 
*  Or  do  you  weep  for  your  store, 
Or  do  you  weep  for  your  house-carpenter 
You  never  shall  see  any  more  ?  ' 

** '  I  do  not  weep  for  my  gold,'  cries  she, 
'  Nor  I  do  not  weep  for  my  store. 
But  it 's  I  do  weep  for  my  lovely  little  babe, 
I  never  shall  see  any  more ! ' 

"  They  had  not  been  at  sea  three  weeks, 
And  I  'm  sure  it  was  not  four, 
When  the  vessel  it  did  spring  a  leak, 
And  it  sank  to  rise  no  more ! " 

Now,  Mark,  here  conies  the  Moral : 

"  Oh,  cruel  be  ye,  sea-farin'  men. 
Oh,  cruel  be  your  lives,  — 
A-robbing  of  the  house-carpentfers, 
And  a-taking  of  their  wives!  " 

The  shouts  and  laughter  which  greeted  the  conclusiuii 
)f  Miss  Lavender's  song  brought  Dr.  Deane  into  the  room. 
He  was  a  little  alarmed  lest  his  standing  in  the  Society 
might  be  damaged  by  so  much  and  such  unrestrained  mer- 
riment under  his  roof.  Still  he  had  scarcely  the  courage 
to  reprimand  the  bright,  joyous  faces  before  him  ;  he  only 
smiled,  shook  his  head,  and  turned  to  leave. 

"  I  'm  a-goin',  too,"  said  Miss  Lavender,  rising.  "  The 
sun  's  not  an  hour  high,  and  the  Doctor,  or  somebody,  must 
take  Mary  Barton  home ;  and  it 's  about  time  the  rest  o* 
you  was  makin'  ready ;  though  they  've  gone  on  with  the 
supper,  there  's  enough  to  do  when  you  get  there  ! " 

The  chair  rolled  away  again,  and  the  bridal  party  re« 
S7 


418  THE  STOKY   OF  KENNETT. 

mounted  their  horses  in  the  warm,  level  light  of  the  sink 
ing  sun.  They  were  all  in  their  saddles  except  Gilbert 
and  Martha. 

"  Go  on  ! "  he  cried,  in  answer  to  their  calls ;  "  we  will 
follow." 

"  It  won  t  be  half  a  honie-comin',  without  you  're  along," 
said  Mark ;  "  but  I  see  you  want  it  so.  Come  on,  boys 
and  girls ! " 

Gilbert  returned  to  the  house  and  met  Martha,  descend- 
ing the  stairs  in  her  plain  riding-dress.  She  descended 
into  his  open  arms,  and  rested  there,  silent,  peaceful,  filled 
with  happy  rest. 

"  My  wife  at  last,  and  forever ! "  he  whispered. 

They  mounted  and  rode  out  of  the  village.  The  fields 
were  already  beginning  to  grow  gray  under  the  rosy  ambei 
of  the  western  sky.  The  breeze  had  died  away,  but  thri 
odors  it  had  winnowed  from  orchard  and  meadow  stil) 
hung  in  the  air.  Faint  cheeps  and  chirps  of  nestling  lifip 
came  from  the  hedges  and  grassy  nooks  of  bank  and 
thicket,  but  they  deepened,  not  disturbed,  the  delicious 
repose  settling  upon  the  land.  Husband  and  wife  rode 
slowly,  and  their  friendly  horses  pressed  nearer  to  each 
other,  and  there  was  none  to  see  how  their  eyes  grew 
deeper  and  darker  with  perfect  tenderness,  their  lips  more 
sweetly  soft  and  warm,  with  the  unspoken,  because  un- 
speakable, fortune  of  love.  In  the  breath  of  that  happy 
twilight  all  the  pangs  of  the  Past  melted  away ;  disgrace 
danger,  poverty,  trial,  were  behind  them ;  and  before  them, 
nestling  yet  unseen  in  the  green  dell  which  divided  the 
glimmering  landscape,  lay  the  peace,  the  shelter,  the  U£»> 
kmg  blessing  of  Home. 


OCSB  CIBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  664  915     6 


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